USUK Drabble Calendar: March 2014
by 365daysofUSUK
Summary: A drabble a day keeps you in USUK! The file for the USUK Drabble Calendar, the month of March in the year of 2014.
1. 1st March - Flirty at 9:30

**ARTIST:** justa-fangirl ** (The art for this drabble is viewable on the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**March 1st, 2014 – Flirty at 9:30**

Arthur Kirkland loved his job. Not because of the work or the money, but because of the view from his desk. From where Arthur sat, all he had to do was lean a little to the right, let his gaze wander beyond his computer screen, and there was Alfred F. Jones.

Arthur usually tried to hold in his longing sighs but his prying desk-neighbour, Francis, wasn't here today, so he could risk it. He really couldn't help it when the American's golden face was alight with endearing enthusiasm like this as Alfred spoke to someone nearby that Arthur couldn't see (probably on the other side of one of the cubicle partitions), his hands flying animatedly to accompany his story. How Arthur wished Alfred could talk to _him_ like that…

Arthur's phone rang, ripping him out of his happy morning daydream. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from Alfred and picked up the receiver.

"Good morning. Arthur Kirkland speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hello, Arthur, this is Elizabeta Héderváry from Capital Radio. How are you today?"

Arthur's eyebrows slowly furrowed. "Why are you calling me?" he demanded.

For some reason, Elizabeta laughed. "I see our mystery caller was right about you. Well, then, let's get right to the point. Every weekday on my show we do a segment called 'Flirty at 9:30' so I'm calling on behalf of an interested party who rather fancies you."

There was a long pause, before Arthur finally said "What."

"It means someone has a secret crush on you~" Elizabeta sang down the line at him.

"…What."

"Oh, come on, Arthur!" Elizabeta groaned, with mock exasperation. "The guy who called in for you was singing your praises, don't act like a moron and make him look like he has bad taste, okay?"

"_Excuse me_?!" Arthur exclaimed. "It's not _my_ problem if some creep wants to call the radio and get you to ask me out for him like a bloody school child! I don't owe him anything!"

"Now, Arthur, there's no need to get hostile," Elizabeta soothed in his ear. "If you're really against this, I can hang up and consider this a lost cause. But I don't want to do that. And do you know why? Because your mystery caller is the most sincere suitor I've ever had on this show, and I want to help him. He likes you a _lot_, and you'd be flattered if you could hear him talk about you! He's just too scared to talk to you in person. You can see why, can't you?"

Arthur looked down at his knees, feeling a bit guilty. "I suppose…" he mumbled, unable to deny it when he was fully aware how snappy he'd been to the radio host in the past two minutes. It was a pretty good indicator of his permanently grumpy disposition.

"Good. Well, then let's get started."

Elizabeta's voice perked up now that Arthur was cooperating, and Arthur steeled himself for what was sure to be a very awkward conversation. "I have a mystery caller on the line for you, Arthur, and you have to decide if you want to go out with him. If you agree to the date, the two of you get a free dinner on me. How does that sound?"

"I suppose I can hear you out," Arthur acquiesced, already wincing in embarrassment.

"Excellent!" Elizabeta squealed. "So I'm going to see if you can guess who's calling for you. Your first clue is a bit unusual: apparently you and your mystery man don't get along too well."

"Then why is he trying to ask me out?" Arthur asked, bewildered.

"I think he sees that there's more to you than your...gruff exterior," Elizabeta supplied, diplomatically. "It might be worth giving him a chance, I'm just saying." Arthur bristled, but Elizabeta chattered on. "_But_ I'm guessing there are a few people you don't get along with considering that charming attitude of yours, so let's move on to clue number two. What if I told you your mystery man _works_ with you, and he's a transfer from abroad?"

"Not too helpful, I'm afraid. Most of my floor are transfers. It's an international company."

"Well, then, that leaves the big final clue: think tall, blonde hair, blue eyes. I haven't seen a picture, but just from the voice and that sexy accent, ugh, I bet he's gorgeous!" Elizabeta practically moaned into the phone.

Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, accent. Arthur's first thought was Alfred and his heart soared for a moment…until he remembered that Francis had blonde hair, blue eyes and an accent, too.

In fact, most of those clues fit Arthur's flirtatious French co-worker (who was mysteriously absent today) and it would be _just_ like Francis to call up a radio station to ask someone out. _So_ ostentatious.

Arthur glanced one more time at Alfred – still playing solitaire, still busy _not_ being on the phone secretly calling in to a radio station – and sighed.

"Um, look, I have to say no. I…I already have feelings for someone. It's unrequited but I can't see myself getting over it any time soon, so…it just wouldn't be fair to go out with anyone else knowing I can't reciprocate."

"Well, this is very sad," said Elizabeta, soberly. "But at least it's not personal, right, Alfred? It's not that Arthur doesn't like you, he just already has feelings for someone else, that's all."

For a moment, Arthur was confused. Why was she saying Alfred's name? Did she somehow know about Arthur's crush?!

But then another voice joined Elizabeta's on the line.

"Yeah, I guess. I was…really hoping, though."

It was Alfred's voice. Unmistakably.

Arthur's eyes shot to Alfred, and once again, the American wasn't on the phone. But he _was _blushing, looking down at his desk with the most heartbroken little smile on his face.

"So Arthur, just to be clear: you're going to turn down the lovely Alfred F. Jones because you have feelings for someone else?"

As Arthur stared at his co-worker, dumbstruck, Alfred turned towards him -and from this angle, he could see that Alfred had a small Bluetooth piece in one ear.

It really _was_ him on the phone…

"Um…Forget I said anything about unrequited feelings," Arthur stammered to the radio DJ. "I'll go on the date."


	2. 2nd March - Of Paper Planes

**AUTHOR**: obscure-fandom-lurker

**March 2nd, 2014 – Of Paper Planes and Nonsensical Things**

It was in the middle of yet another speech about something or another when England was attacked.

Though, he wasn't attacked in the sense of wartime or the use of any sort of weapons. All the warning that he had before he was attacked was a slight whistle of an object being thrown in the air before something made contact with the side of his head, falling off onto the carpet with a soft _whoosh_. England was stunned for a moment, snapped out of his half daydreams (and his 'magazine') by the projectile, and he looked over to where it had fallen. A paper plane. His eyes narrowed, then slid over to where America was grinning manically at him.

'_America. Why am I not surprised that the childish wanker threw something at me?'_

Without another look at either the sunny blond or the paper plane, England promptly squashed the plane. He refused to participate at America's childish games, and he made it known by a glare in America's way. The other nation had a pout on his lips, his face set in a childish sulk. It only made England more justifiable in his action of (literally) stomping out the childish urge. Surely now America would leave him alone and actually concentrate on the current discussion, whatever the topic was about.

Or so he thought.

Yet another something hit Britain's head, this time landing on the table. He frowned at the offending paper projectile and looked in the direction of the American nation. He was greeted with yet another sunny smile, this time accompanied with a thumb up and a mouthed 'Open it!'.

England wanted to do the opposite of opening it, but a quick glance at the clock and Germany convinced him otherwise. The meeting was far from over (has it really been ten minutes since he last looked at the clock?), and Germany was still in the middle of a barely controlled argument with Russia. Seeing as Russia was still 'kolkolkol'ing menacingly at a still pacifying Germany, and everyone around them in varying states of boredom, England decided to indulge America. Just this once, he reasoned to himself. But deep down, he knew his soft spot was once again touched upon.

England then squinted to the sender, who gave him a thumbs up and a wink that was slightly reminiscent of frog-face. That made England suspicious of the paper, but nonetheless, he opened the paper plane with nimble fingers. It read:

_Roses are red, fries are fried, this poem sucks, but so do I ;)_

Once Britain had processed the message, he scrunched the paper into the smallest ball possible and threw it onto the table with a huff. His anger was lessoned by the slightly sulky look America adopted on his face, followed by a very showy performance of crossing his arms and looking determinedly at Russia and Germany. Triumphant, Britain lay back in his chair with a smug smile and settled down for the rest of the meeting, hopefully undisturbed.

But when he thought he had finally got America off his back, the familiar aircraft made its presence known yet again. He didn't even bother acting surprised this time, sending a scowl almost as soon as he felt the hit. America's smile was just a bright, but there was a tinge of impatience hovering on the edges of his expression.

Pushed by his insistence and by the curiosity growing in him, England opened the paper airplane. It was a different message this time, making him splutter quietly and flush a brilliant scarlet. America, who was watching England with expectant blue eyes, triumphantly grinned and waved as England tried to compose himself. Luckily, everyone else was still occupied with other matters, letting Britain's crack in composure go unnoticed. Instead of crumpling the paper similar to last time, he carefully folded it and tucked it into his breast pocket.

America stretched more comfortably in his seat and placed his hands behind his head, now thoroughly satisfied with himself. He didn't expect a small paper plane to land perfectly in front of him. He glanced immediately to Britain, whose only indication of sending the paper craft was the smallest twitch of a smile on his lips and a minute raise of his eyebrows.

Challenge accepted then. Alfred unfolded the paper with as much enthusiasm and wide arm gestures as possible, determined to show that just because Britain retaliated with a plane of his own doesn't mean that he was going win this little play thing that they had. There was no way what Britain wrote was going to beat what he sent-

Oh. America's eyes roved over the small but powerful string of words, wide and unblinking. His smile was small compared to the cocky one he had earlier, and he looked back at the writer. England's chin rested on his folded fingers, giving his full attention to the arguing nations. If it weren't for the slightest widening of his smile and the letter sitting in America's hands, he would've thought he had imagined it all.

The American nation finally paid attention to the situation at the front, which had been pacified by a frazzled Japan and the meeting returning on track. But every now and then, he glanced at the paper with a hidden smile. And out of the corner of his eye, he could see England doing the same thing.


	3. 3rd March - Chances

**ARTIST: **justa-fangirl** (Today's art is available on the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR**: Empress Vegah

**March 3rd, 2014 – Chances**

"_Hey look, it's the eyebrow monster!"_

"_Ewwww, those aren't eyebrows, they're caterpillars stuck on your face!"_

"_Why don't you go and have those nasty hairs shaved?"_

"_Who would want to date someone with such mean eyebrows?"_

"_The young man with thick eyebrows, I want you to solve the problem on the board."_

Ever since Arthur was a child, he was always identified by his thick, prominent eyebrows; a hereditary trait the Kirkland offspring got from their father. Everywhere he went, he had always been remembered because of his eyebrows.

If Arthur were to be honest, he didn't like his eyebrows at all.

Sure, if he were in public, he was proud of them and he would defend the thick strands of hair situated right above his eyes to anyone who would even just stare a heartbeat longer at his face.

But they caused him mighty grief. He had suffered numerous bullying incidents during his childhood, when he didn't have enough spunk to defend himself from those older and bigger children. When he grew old enough to fight back, he had already decided to not care of what other people said about his eyebrows. He sometimes wondered how his older brothers faced the bullying, but then they weren't really the 'bullyable' types – big brutes that they were.

Though no matter what Arthur thought or said, he would still be affected by the words people uttered about his prominent eyebrows, the looks sent on his way, especially by strangers who were seeing him for the first time.

Even his melodramatic frog classmate from high school, Francis Bonnefoy – very unfortunate for Arthur – often made loud and unbearable proclamations of how his unsightly eyebrows would hurt his beauty-oriented eyes, telling him often to shave them off to do the world a favor.

So Arthur had grown to dislike them so much he often thought of going to the salon just to get those shaved or threaded — anything to make himself more presentable. But somehow, something always stopped him from take a step inside the beauty establishment. A little voice that often spoke of romantic words to him, telling him that if someone truly liked him, they would totally accept everything he was, including his hideous eyebrows.

He had been secretly waiting for that _someone_ to arrive, to tell him that he was just fine the way he was — he didn't need to change anything about his looks or his personality.

But Arthur had been waiting for so long that he had forgotten all about it; he already had a decent-paying job as an editor-in-chief in one of the local magazines. Twelve years of relying on a faceless person to boost your self-worth — Arthur was over it now. He had become successful on his own efforts, even if he only came home to his fat cat. He wasn't lonely. Really.

So when someone accidentally bumped into him when he exited the tea shop he often frequented — causing the tea he was holding to spill on the ground — he didn't think anything of it, except that whoever did that had to pay. That person apologized profusely to him, with his blatant American accent grating in his ears. Arthur finally snapped, "You git! Watch where you're going! Now look at what you've done to my poor tea!" His angry scowl caused his eyebrows to meet between his forehead, and he then noticed that the obnoxious git was staring at his face.

He suddenly felt conscious. Putting a hand over his forehead to hide his eyebrows, Arthur hissed, "What are you looking at?!"

At this, the American's blue eyes widened, and he immediately raised his hands to placate the angry Briton. "No! No, I'm not staring at your eyebro—ah, I mean, I'm sorry, I'll replace the tea!" But Arthur only glared at him more, clearly unimpressed by his attempt at making amends. The American sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I really think they're cute," he murmured, looking away.

At this, Arthur blinked before a blush took over his face. No one had ever said that his eyebrows were cute — everybody had thought that they looked ugly on him. But here the stranger was, thinking that they looked cute. Not just 'okay', but 'cute'.

Silence consumed them for a few moments, before the tall American looked back at him and offered his hand, "I'm sorry 'bout the tea, and I'd like to replace your tea?" He smiled at him, a little bashful, a little hopeful. Arthur just couldn't say no to that face.

"W-well, if you're so insistent in replacing the tea you've spilled, then be my guest!" Arthur huffed, but the pink dusting his cheeks didn't subside. He blamed it for the partially cold weather.

They walked back to the tea shop, Arthur looking away while the handsome American was whistling a tune. While falling in line, the noisy American suddenly said, "The name's Alfred, by the way."

Arthur cleared his throat, "Arthur." The line moved forward and Alfred rocked on his heels while Arthur told himself to stop sneaking peeks at Alfred.

"I still think they're cute, Arthur. Those eyebrows, I mean," he commented out of nowhere and Arthur unconsciously touched the hairs on his forehead. "Not too confident about 'em, huh?"

Arthur wasn't sure what made him nod to Alfred's observation, considering that they're practically strangers. "What was that tea I spilled?" Alfred asked him, and Arthur looked up to see those blue eyes staring back at him. He swallowed and answered, "Earl Grey. A dash of milk, no sugar."

The cashier told Alfred the total amount and he took his wallet to take out some notes and placed them on the counter. "Your appearance doesn't define who you are," Alfred offhandedly said, and Arthur's eyes widened as the little voice that whispered romantic things came back after lying dormant for years, telling him that something good would come out of this.

"Here, your tea," Alfred offered him the cup, and Arthur reached out to take it, inhaling the calming aroma of his favorite tea. They exited the tea shop and Alfred waved him goodbye, walking at the opposite direction Arthur was heading to.

The little voice was getting louder now, telling him of things he would regret if he didn't act now. Arthur gritted his teeth, and before he could lose his nerve, he called out, "Alfred!"

The American was already a few meters away, but he heard Arthur's call and turned to look at him. Arthur walked primly, albeit a bit nervously, towards the only person who told him such wonderful things about his life-long insecurities. Stopping just a few feet from Alfred, Arthur took a deep breath and said, "I think we should catch up sometime?"

Alfred blinked once, before laughing out loud, taking out his cellphone in the process. "I thought I was the only one interested," he said with a grin, and Arthur's heart fluttered in his chest.

Maybe he wouldn't be so lonely anymore.


	4. 4th March - The Party Gras Combo

**ARTIST:** Owyn **(The art for this drabble is availale on the tumblr/Livejournal for ****_365daysofusuk_****)**

**AUTHOR:** Faux

**March 4th, 2014 – The Party Gras Combo**

The streets were packed, the bars were full, the very air was stifling with the amount of people that had gathered on Bourbon Street for the Mardi Gras celebration. Locals and tourists alike were laughing and carrying on together in the contagious festival atmosphere. Drink after drink was poured as shouts of enthusiasm spread like wildfire through the boulevard. Everyone was enjoying themselves...except for one exceptionally grumpy guest country.

"I don't see the point of this flashy display of technicolor tomfoolery."

England sat with his arms crossed on the porch of one of the grandest hotels in the NOLA area. England had decided to visit at America's request, after the country's incessant whining at every possible moment the two met had broken through his resolve. Truthfully, it was also an opportunity for him to escape the dreadful cold that still wrapped tightly about most of the European nations this time of year. However, after the arrangements had been made and England arrived, America's "surprise" trip down to New Orleans for one of the most grandiose events on the American calendar was not the kind of outing he'd been hoping for.

"Hahaha! Come on, England. You're not too old to party, are you?" America stood a short distance away from the Brit, his hands wrapped about the balcony railing, taking in the bustling movement of his city in its prime. "There's nothin' wrong with having a little fun and downing a few cold ones!"

"I'd hardly call that _mass_ below us a _little_ fun." England pushed himself up from the table to join beside America. "The floats, the garish masks, everything about this event screams tourist trap and an excuse to get bleeding drunk without worrying about the consequences." He paused as a giant jester situated atop a bus rounded the corner, only serving to prove his point. "No wonder it was inspired by the French," he huffed.

England waited somewhat anxiously for America's response, finally forcing his eyes away from the spectacle to see a rather miffed country. America said not a word and, without warning, reached out, latching on to England's elbow.

"Oi! Unhand me!"

England protested, but the younger nation wasn't listening. He hurried down the stairs to enter the hoard of people crowded outside the hotel's glass doors. As soon as the two breached the doors, a roar erupted along with thunderous applause. America, still not willing to let go of England, rose his free hand in acknowledgement, causing another explosion of excited cheers. The two made their way through to the edge of the sidewalk as best they could, America pushing England to stand in front of him before placing both hands on his shoulders.

"Just take a closer look."

England had given up his attempts to get the better of the nation and merely sighed, shoulders and eyebrows sagging. He might as well indulge him and hopefully end his complaining about the visiting nation's sour mood. So England looked. He watched the floats passing by with their Krew and riders tossing candy, toys, and multi-colored bits and bobs to the by-standers. He watched as women adorned in beautiful dresses and masks covered in glitter and feathers strolled down main street with amazing grace and poise. He saw the wide-eyed smiles and brotherly affection each and every single individual had on their faces.

Suddenly, he felt something tug at his sleeve. Blinking, he turned his attention to a small child with a face painted all the hues of Mardi Gras, matching ribbons in her hair. She reached out her hand and gestured for him to open his palm. England obliged and was stunned when a single strand of purple beads was placed in it.

"Happy Mardi Gras, Mister! "

As the little girl turned and left, England curled his fingers about the beads, pulling his arm to his chest. He spied America, sporting a confident smirk, out of the corner of his eye. The nation heaved a sigh and lifted the strand up over his head.

"I suppose that enjoying oneself from time to time isn't the most horrible thing in the world."


	5. 5th March - Memorial

**AUTHOR**: Kelbora

**March 5th, 2014 – Memorial**

It was rhythmic and annoying, the constant poke of the needle and slide of the thread. What Arthur had always found to be a soothing activity was grating to Alfred's ears. It would make him frown and complain every time, just as Arthur always made a fuss when Alfred bit his nails or ceaselessly drummed his fingers when he was nervous.

But with years of marriage had come trials in temperance. The sharp comments and aggravated frowns at the beginning of their relationship had turned to gentle hands silently moving to preoccupy anxious ones. It had become a habit of muscle memory, yet Alfred's hand would not rise to its task anymore…

"You lost a love for that long ago," Alfred began, "What's troubling you?"

The amused little huff made him smile a little, but hands still waiting to be stopped continued cross stitching into canvas. "Tis nothing but boredom this time, my love. You're certainly not doing anything to keep me entertained, so I am forced to undertake the labor myself."

His smile broadened and a sound of contentment escaped him, "Forgive me, I never had your natural prowess as a host."

"I daresay not. Were you more yourself, I'd likely be screaming in terror upon the back of some beast whilst you hunt creatures with names longer than my arm," Arthur muttered bitterly. "There's a reason we all made sure you were never the one bored."

Alfred could have said that a bored Arthur would sometimes prove just as hazardous, but he wisely held his tongue and enjoyed his beloved's company. After all…it had been a while. "I missed you."

Arthur gave a despondent sigh without ever stopping his hands. "I know, my love. Though you never lacked the company of those trying to warm a place at your side, I know you kept my throne sacred."

He swallowed hard at that, trying not to let emotion steal his ability to speak; not now when he finally had a reason to again. "I wish we had had heirs…this kingdom truly goes to hell without someone like you running it."

"Ah, so you finally admit it," Arthur chided and Alfred heard him recross his legs, as he continued his stitching. "I always said your crown looked better on me anyway."

The old tease between them made him smile again, but he lost the battle with his tears and they fell freely. He wanted to apologize but his throat was too constricted and all he managed was a sob. Arthur had been the only person he ever allowed himself to cry before, as only Arthur would see him as a man in pain instead of a weak king.

Neither of them had had a choice about their union. Neither of them had had a choice about their roles or burdens forced upon them. In the beginning they had both resented their fates and each other, with Arthur constantly encroaching on the roles of the king and Alfred only exercising his prerogative to do as he pleased as far from any palace as possible. The friction between them and their courts grew to a fevered pitch and only war had brought it all to heel.

He remembered that time…when he had finally become the king he had been born to be and the person supporting him most had been the queen he had recklessly taken for granted. They had shared the same bed for years but hadn't known who the other was until they'd been on the verge of loosing everything.

In the subsequent reconstruction, Alfred found that he'd been grateful to his enemies, as every day since their invasion sat beside him the best friend and lover he had almost never known. Their kingdom and people prospered, just as their relationship did. They reigned for years under Alfred's strength and Arthur's wisdom. Crises were momentary and war became legend; it was a golden age of peace.

A peace that continued on without him.

His eyes opened and his head turned towards the sensation of a hand in his. It was warm and familiar, an instant comfort he had been so long without, yet longed for endlessly. He let the feeling linger in the quiet, and only just managed the strength to bring his other hand atop his queen's…and cried again.

He didn't need the excuse of being blind to know no one was there, as no one had been for the loneliest ten years of his twilight.


	6. 6th March - I Left My Conscience

**AUTHOR:** Bukkun

**March 6th, 2014 - I Left My Conscience Pressed Between the Pages of the Bible in the Drawer**

Working in the public library wasn't quite the career Arthur had planned out for himself, but in the meantime it was rather nice. The place was quiet, and the building itself beautiful, and here he was surrounded by his most favourite things—books. Being a librarian didn't demand his attention as much as his awful previous job endeavours did, and so he had more time to do things he actually _liked_, like reading, and when he was particularly free and the library devoid of most of its population, he could even write.

There was Francis, who frequented the romance novels and loved to annoy him by changing around the order of the books to let their spines spell some broken-up, sad excuse of "poetry" that left Arthur groaning in frustration and rolling his eyes at the Frenchman, who often complimented him anyway, more out of friendly spite than actual admiration.

There were a few other people Arthur barely remember by face and more by usual action, but there was that one exception that stood out like a mega watt bulb in a sea of LED lights.

"Heeeeey, Artie!"

Oh, he could already feel the migraine.

A tall, lean-muscled blond bounced up to the counter where Arthur stood behind, grinning brightly at him as Arthur scowled back.

"Yes, hello. Have you come to not get a book today?" he asked.

The blond grinned at winked at him. "You betcha!"

This young man is Alfred F. Jones. Sophomore in the local college the library was next to, varsity player for three of the school's teams—American football, baseball, and, oddly, Math Decathlon.

Alfred was a little different than the other library-goers in the sense that while everyone dropped by for a book, Alfred was there to, well, quote, 'hide from all those crazy girls that would follow him around because ooh, he's that football jock that everyone's in love with'. Arthur has yet to believe that was actually true, scowling continuously whenever Alfred was in his line of sight, ducking between shelves and hiding behind books.

As of late, though, he seemed to have taken interest in the young adult's section of the library, keeping him out of Arthur's business for a while, but in the times Alfred wasn't quite around, Arthur would still find himself trying to look for that mop of bright blonde. He didn't quite understand _why_—

Until the day Alfred's 'hide-from-the- fans' plan backfired on him when one of his admirers had finally managed to find him in the library. Arthur had found out from Francis, who was snickering on his own with a copy of some romance novel between his fingers, covering his face.

"I don't see what's very funny, Francis."

"Alfred's been spotted."

"Has he, now?" Arthur replied with a nonchalance that seemed too clinical to be real, and at that Francis smirked at him, only to have Arthur scowl right back at him. "Oh, shut up."

"I think it would be well for you to at least keep him out of trouble." He smirked. "Who knows what could happen in those back shelves, _oui_?"

Arthur paused for a moment, and the vision of Alfred backing someone up against the shelf flooded his mind. A bright blush crossed his cheeks and Francis let out a barking laugh.

"I know what you're thinking." Francis waggled his eyebrows at him, leaning in, and Arthur shook his head.

Arthur scoffed, pushing the man away from him. "Fine. I'll keep the bloody jock in line. Hold my counter for me."

"Of course." Francis winked at him.

Arthur shook his head, and headed away to where the young adult section was, to find immediately Alfred talking to a girl in hushed tones, the girl holding tightly onto a bible in her shaking hands.

"… Sorry, but I can't go out with you, I like someone else."

"Can't you at least give me a try? I bet she hasn't even asked you out yet!"

"He hasn't."

"Wait, _he_?"

"Yeah, why?"

Suddenly Arthur heard the girl let out a screech that sent his heart jumping into his throat in surprise, and without thinking, he stepped out from where he hid.

"Keep it down, this is a library." He sternly said, earning him a wide-eyed gape from Alfred, and a tiny gasp from the girl. "I understand people talking rather loudly, but screeching? That's a bit of a terrible offense, miss."

The girl gaped at him for a moment, before shaking her head. She smacked Alfred on the head with the bible, before shoving it in his hands, hurrying away. Alfred stood there, rubbing his head where he was hit, as he looked at Arthur with a worried look on his face.

"So, someone special?" Arthur asked nonchalantly, ignoring the thundering his heart was doing in his chest—out of relief or dismay, he will refuse to find out, but the look in Alfred's eyes was making it beat just all the more hard. "You're a charming a young man anyway—why don't you go ask him out?" He spared a glance at the bible, "Your conscience is probably berating on you to get it over and done with, you know."

With an awkward wave, Arthur stiffly turned around and walked back to his counter, where Francis still stood, expectantly looking at him.

"Likes someone." He said, and Francis gaped at him.

"That's it?"

Arthur shrugged, but then suddenly he felt a book pressed into his hand, and he turned to see Alfred grinning at him, a little flushed and out of breath.

"Thanks for earlier."

"No worries." Arthur replied coolly, as Alfred began to leave. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Alfred hurriedly replied, making a beeline for the door, but he hesitated, turning only slightly to look at Arthur. "Left my conscience pressed between the pages of the bible." He blurted out, before hurrying out the door. Beside him, Francis was bent over in barely-concealed laughter, as Arthur raised an eyebrow at the book in his hand.

"… What?" he asked before looking down at it to see a paper sticking out. Blinking, Arthur pulled it out to find a number and a message hurriedly scrawled on it: _call me please?_

Arthur blinked down at the scrap of paper, blushing, before with a tiny grin on his face, pulled out his phone to send Alfred a text immediately.

_I'll go out with you, just don't ever use song lyrics on me ever again._

The reply came almost immediately.

_Anything for you, babe._

Arthur couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from his lips, earning him a shush from his boss and a lecherous grin from Francis.


	7. 7th March - Angels in New York

**ARTIST:** Anonymous **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** yao-braginski

**March 7t, 2014 - Angels in New York  
**

Arthur wasn't fond of New York. In fact, Arthur abhorred the wretched place. If he wasn't being trampled on by the self-important commuters with burnished shoes and battered briefcases, he was being ambushed by some poorly paid employee with leaflets for events no one cared about. The city smelt like burnt car tyres and synthetic sugar, and the inhabitants ate doughnuts for breakfast. Doughnuts for _breakfast_, honestly, Arthur welcomed that notion the same way he'd welcome sharing a bed with a Frenchman. And, unfortunately, a day hadn't passed by without Arthur having to hear that ridiculous American accent.

As far as the Englishman was concerned, nothing could make him enjoy New York or the company of Americans.

He was particularly irritable today after having received a phone call from his boss, who had decided that two entire weeks in the USA wasn't enough and, instead, a month would be 'more conducive to improving international relationships.' Ergo, Arthur had another three weeks left before he could return to the civilised world.

Stomping proved to be an ineffective release of infuriation, and scowling blackly at whomever crossed his path was futile since New Yorkers were either jaded or preoccupied.

The sky was grey and apocalyptic, and the whorled clouds threatened to burst at any moment. Arthur liked the rain, nostalgically, but not when he was outside, trudging to work, in his best suit and sweater vest ensemble and in a foul mood.

He came to yellow-taxi infested road and made a half-arsed attempt to check for any oncoming traffic. Not paying attention to the people who had clumped together at the edge of the pavement, Arthur marched on. He'd only reached the centre of the road when a distressed 'Hey!' reached his ears. Arthur reeled, a car horn blared and the world tunnelled into loud, yellow clutter.

His body furled, without consent, bracing for the impact of the car. When it came, all the oxygen was dislodged from his body. The floor was surprisingly yielding and there wasn't a great deal of pain except for the concrete grating against the right side of him. Arthur felt pillowed and breathless, his eyes were open but he could hardly see anything. The skyscrapers of New York seemed distant and smudged, like looking at a water colour painting.

"I don't think you've got concussion." The voice was striking, real and directly above him. "How'd you feel?"

Arthur's sight flickered in and out of focus until everything became three dimensional again. There was a man gazing down at him, an exceptionally handsome man with startling blue eyes.

"Hey there," the stranger said, smiling. Arthur had never seen a smile like it.

"I sincerely hope you're not the angel of chastity," the Englishman replied blearily.

The smile became crooked with amusement. "Nah, I don't think so. If you're having impure thoughts about me, that's totally fine."

"Oh, good."

This time, the man chuckled. It was a genuine laugh, entirely harmless, but Arthur got the impression that the man was laughing at him, rather than with him.

"You're British, right? The accent? Explains why you walked out in front of a car. I hate to break it to you, but you gotta look the other way over here."

Gradually, Arthur was coming to. A mass of eyes greeted him and the distant wailing of an ambulance siren rang in Arthur's ears. The ground, which he had previously thought was cushioned, wasn't the ground at all and, instead, he was sat on the blond American's thigh with his back slouched against the man's chest.

The Englishman's cheeks became pinched with red.

"The bloody hell are you doing?!" Arthur tried to wriggle away but his body felt sluggish and unreactive like wet sand.

"Woah, hold still." The man's arms tightened around Arthur, proving himself to be ridiculously strong. "The paramedics are here now. Just try not to panic, okay?"

"I'm not panicking, you stupid American!" Arthur protested.

The paramedics accosted Arthur with a million questions after they'd finally approached the duo. He was then elevated by the bends of his elbows until Arthur found himself in the back of an ambulance. An entirely unnecessary precaution, in Arthur's mind, and he'd made sure the paramedics were aware of his thoughts.

One over-invasive medical examination later, the Briton had been declared fit to leave. A whole day's work had been wasted and the insurance would cost his company a fortune. Sure enough, he had three enraged voice-mails from his boss, all of which Arthur listened to with impatience.

Upon deleting his boss' messages, there was only one message left from an unknown caller.

"_Hey there, Arthur Kirkland, this is Alfred F. Jones! I'm the angel of chastity that saved your life today. I'm just calling because, and I'm going out on a limb here, you made my gaydar senses tingle and I think you're really cute. Since I did save your life, and that, technically, makes me your hero, I think you owe me a date. Call me back when you're feeling better!_" A pause. "_Oh, and if you're wondering how I know your name and number, one of your business cards fell out your pocket when you were lying on me. You got some killer legs by the way; hope that's not too impure a statement for you. Anyway, call me!_"

Arthur frowned and ended the voice-mail. Americans were impertinent gits, the lot of them, and Alfred F. Jones was the worst Arthur had come across thus far.

This, however, didn't stop Arthur from attending that date. And another date after that, and another date after that.


	8. 8th March

**AUTHOR**: Mano

**March 8t, 2014**

i.

She stood tall in the ranks though only 5 feet 6 inches in height, dwarfed by men on either side with muscular arms thrown in salute. Head held high, eyes bright, hair yanked into a tight bun, she waited for her commanding officer to pass.

He did not inspect as usual, but spoke softly to a pair of men dressed in civilian clothes. She saw the three conversing quietly at a table in the mess hall a few hours later, but said nothing. Her own table laughed raucously over some old army joke.

"Becky, you sure gave Samuel a run for his money during training today." Her friend James clapped her shoulder with an approving smile. "Made him look like a blind badger with a gun. Where do you hide all that strength? Not in those puny muscles I hope."

Samuel grumbled into his coffee. He was small but lithe, tendons standing out on long arms.

"Becky is practically superhuman or something. Bigger balls than all of us combined." He nodded with a slight upward quirk of his lips, a small salute. "I'd let her lead me into battle any day, s'what I'm saying. There's no shame in that." He pointed to the table in the corner of the hall with a triangle of toast. "But something's fishy over there, don't you think?"

Becky looked up again. She'd been glancing every few minutes, but now she met them with a full gaze. "I don't know. Hopefully not people with bad news. I want to get through training in one piece, you know."

She swallowed, the unspoken truth shared between a band of kindred spirits. There wasn't much time until they were assigned their stations, some into the thick of an overseas conflict and others to quell the unease on home soil.

One of the men at the table looked up. Bright blue eyes behind spectacles met hers. He was a strong man—good-natured despite pinched cheeks and a sickly pallor. He leaned heavily on his friend, who was shorter in stature, a man with rowdy blond hair and thick eyebrows. The first tilted his head, brows furrowed, then looked away to continue his conversation. The friend, however, had followed his gaze, and watched Becky carefully.

She jerked her eyes downwards and shoveled bland green beans into her face.

* * *

ii.

"Art, I'm fine…" Alfred slapped away Arthur's hands as he tried to wrap a second wool blanket around his shoulders. He sat on the double bed in a small hotel room, surrounded by mint green furniture and beige walls.

"Absolutely not," Arthur said, sinking down onto the bed beside him. "You're as white as death."

Alfred groaned, but felt himself waver as he shifted aside to accommodate the other. "S'what war does. Arthur please." A wave of dizziness hit him. Black ate the edges of his vision.

He found himself slouched over onto Arthur's chest, who sat carding his fingers through his hair. By then, the bar of light beneath the door had vanished while the evening glow dulled from sheer curtains. "Awh shoot…"

"I told you to take it easy," Arthur said. He tutted softly and continued stroking his head.

A few minutes crawled by; Arthur was sure that Alfred had drifted into sleep until the other shifted with a little whine. "Arthur…you know…how you can sense things about your own citizens? Your people?"

"Hmm? Yes, I suppose…"

Arthur pulled him closer. One hand cupped his cheek, checking his temperature. It had spiked with the first attack, but the drain of resources was what really sapped his strength.

"S'just…I know they're scared. They know things are going to get seriously messed up soon. Yet they're here. And I can sense a greatness about them." He sighed, pushing himself upright to look earnestly in his eyes, "Because of them, I'm not afraid. These are my people and…some of them have families and hopes and dreams yet they're here. Fighting for me." He slumped back into Arthur with a rattling sigh. His voice faded into a muddled yawn. "S'bad now…but stuff gets better. We bounce back. We always have." His eyes slipped closed and he slept.

Arthur secured him in another wool blanket, planting a soft kiss on his forehead, then headed for the door.

* * *

iii.

Becky and her friends had retired to the break room late into the night, where they were catching the end of a movie. There was an easy silence born of fatigue and sore muscles. Becky, seated on the floor, leaned back against the side of the couch and kneaded her palms into one of her calves with a little groan.

A lithe shape stepped through a tangle of sprawled limbs. He deposited himself beside Becky. One of the civilian men, with disheveled hair and the thick brows. He pretended to watch the film, but turned toward her with a small murmur that beckoned her to lean closer. "You. This is going to sound absurd. But you're doing your country proud. The lot of you." He clapped one hand on her shoulder with a little nod. "Right. Erm, fight strong."

When he found Alfred again, the other's expression had smoothed into quiet sleep. Another kiss to his forehead indicated that his fever had finally gone down.


	9. 9th March - Recently

**AUTHOR**: justa-fangirl

**March 9th, 2014 – Recently I've been dying to meet you.  
**

Every day, Alfred would take his Nintendo 3DS handheld gaming console to work with him. A lot of people seemed to think he was too old for video games, but Alfred would be happy to explain to any of them that they were so totally wrong. People could _never_ grow out of video games, because it was a medium of entertainment that was always evolving!

And besides, what _else_ was he supposed to do on his daily commute? His 3DS actually helped make the crowded train journey home the best part of his day, because that was when he got to play StreetPass.

StreetPass was a special function on the 3DS, whereby anyone who carried their own console would pop up on your system if you passed them on the street in real life. When you met someone's little avatar, called a Mii, you could use them to play games and win little prizes.

It was pretty addictive, and Alfred loved opening up his 3DS on the train home to see all the people he'd inadvertently met during the day, and trying to figure out where he might have met them and who they might be in reality.

Alfred had chosen to make his avatar look like himself, so that people who met him on StreetPass would be able to recognise him. (He had a bit of trouble getting his character to sport that unique cowlick of his, but along with the big smile, bright blue eyes, golden hair and tan skin, he felt he was pretty recognisable as his Mii.) But sometimes people decided to get creative with their avatars, so it was hard to tell who they might be in real life.

Like the little guy Alfred met one Monday evening as he played StreetPass on the train home from work. He was checking out the parade of avatars he'd met that day and couldn't help but laugh to himself as a disgruntled looking little Mii popped up at the end of the line. He was short and almost stick-thin, with clashing blond hair and giant black eyebrows. Nobody had eyebrows like that, and even if you did, you wouldn't want them reflected on your Mii! The avatar must be based a cartoon character or something.

The big eyebrows made the Mii look permanently grumpy, but that made the little avatar's smile all the more adorable when it greeted Alfred's character at the gates of his Streetpass Plaza.

"I'm Arthur from England," the Mii said. "Nice to meet you! Gallifrey Stands."

Alfred's eyes widened at the message, and he smiled giddily. A fellow 'Doctor Who' fan! Sure, many people in England loved the famous sci-fi show, but this guy was obviously a big fanboy to use such a slogan as his StreetPass message. Alfred had the utmost respect for such geekiness.

"Recently I've been playing Pokémon X," Arthur continued, which caused Alfred to perk up again. "By the way, I like cats. My dream for the future is to be a wizard."

It was an ordinary enough encounter, but still Alfred was drawn to this Arthur guy. He seemed to be an adult (judging by the fact that they'd met during commuting hours), who loved Pokémon and Doctor Who. What wasn't to like?! Alfred hoped they'd StreetPass each other again tomorrow.

Sure enough, when Alfred popped open his 3DS on the train home, there was Arthur waiting for him at the gates to his StreetPass Plaza again.

Meeting twice meant Alfred now had the chance to put in a special new greeting message just for Arthur, so he whipped out his stylus and typed out a personalised message eagerly.

"Love Doctor Who!" he entered into the box, hoping the small 16-character limit of the message could convey his excitement. Now, if he met Arthur again tomorrow, that greeting would be sent to him. Maybe Arthur would even write a special message for _him_!

It went on like this for a whole week. Alfred and Arthur passed each other at some point every day on Alfred's way home, but never actually saw one another. They did begin exchanging messages via their Miis, though.

"Fav. episode?" Arthur's Mii asked on Wednesday.

"Prob Don't Blink" was Alfred's reply.

"Acceptable." said Arthur on Thursday, and Alfred laughed out loud. He'd passed some sort of fanboy test, apparently.

"Excited for 12?" Alfred replied on Friday evening (meaning the 12th actor to play the show's titular character, who would begin his role later on in the year).

By now it was the weekend, so Alfred wouldn't be hearing Arthur's reply till Monday. He found himself actually desperate for the working week to begin, just so he could do his commute and see Arthur's avatar again. He knew it was stupid, but it was exciting actually meeting someone, making a real friend, on StreetPass.

Monday finally arrived, and on his way home from work Alfred met Arthur again on his 3DS.

"U dont even know" read Arthur's message, grammar and punctuation all gone in favour of expressing his fanboyish excitement.

And that was when Alfred resolved to meet Arthur in real life. It would be a tricky process, but he was determined.

So Tuesday evening, Alfred kept his 3DS out as he walked back to the station after work. Every few seconds, he'd flick to the StreetPass application to see if he'd passed Arthur, hoping that he looked at least a _bit_ like his Mii so Alfred would be able to spot him and say hello.

But no such luck.

Camping out on a bench beside his platform gate at the station on Wednesday proved just as fruitless, and on Thursday, Alfred was held back after work, and didn't see Arthur at all.

It was shocking how much that depressed him. This one little avatar had really brightened up his life these past two weeks, and the short personal messages they exchanged on their way home were something Alfred looked forward to every day.

On Friday, getting a bit desperate, Alfred decided to check his own train, just to be on the safe side. He knew it was probably a long shot, and it was pretty embarrassing prowling up and down the aisles of the train cars, peering into every face to see if it was Arthur. But he was just that determined.

He'd reached the last car and his heart had drooped miserably in his chest when he suddenly spotted tousled blond hair poking out from behind a seat-back a few rows ahead of him. _Arthur's Mii has hair like that_, Alfred thought to himself, hopefully. The man was facing away from him, but as Alfred tiptoed closer, he spotted a 3DS sitting in the man's lap.

A spring burst into Alfred's step and he almost skipped over to the stranger, standing next to his seat in the aisle and looking down at scruffy fair hair as the man focused on his 3DS. The passenger must have noticed someone standing next to him, though, for he glanced up, and a pair of green eyes widened in surprise as they met Alfred's brilliant, victorious smile.

So the big eyebrows were real, after all. Alfred found he was actually really glad to see them. It wouldn't be the same Arthur without them.

"_You_!" the man exclaimed, and Alfred beamed at him.

"Hello. I'm Alfred. Recently I've been playing StreetPass Plaza. By the way, I like cats. My dream for the future is to be a hero," Alfred recited, copying his Mii's greeting. Then he blushed, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. "And I couldn't really fit this in a sixteen character message so I've been trying to meet you so I could ask…do you wanna go out sometime?"


	10. 10th March

**ARTIST: **Hada **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR**: Leo

**March 10th, 2014**

Alfred hurled a rock at Arthur's balcony window. He was beaming with happiness, as tonight was the night he would proclaim his love. The rock bounced on the window and onto the balcony, before falling back to the ground. Alfred could hear a faint sound of footsteps and a click as the balcony door unlocked. Alfred gripped his bouquet of flowers as Arthur emerged onto the balcony, dressed in nothing but a fluffy white robe and rapidly rubbing his arms trying to get some warmth back in them.

"Oh, Romeo!" he mocked. "You almost broke my window."

"Aww c'mon Arthur!" Alfred pouted, "I brought you flowers?" he asked cautiously. Arthur laughed then turned around to go inside, leaving Alfred alone again in the cold night air. He turned around quickly and walked briskly back down to the path he had taken to Arthur's, promising to find an item that was softer than a rock, so he could try again tomorrow night.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Alfred spun on the spot and turned to see Arthur standing out of breath with his arms crossed still wearing only his bathrobe but with a pair of sandals. A huge goofy grin crossed Alfred's face as he ran to the man, giving him in a bone-crushing hug of joy.

"Ouch. Git. Put me down." Arthur muttered blushing, as he was swung around. Alfred let him go, only to drop down on one knee holding the bouquet out as if presenting a sword. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Beautiful. Will you please accept these flowers and my love so we can go back inside and be happy and maybe cuddle by a fire or something? Because it is freezing out here and you are in a bathrobe and flip-flops."

Arthur stood silently for a moment, considering his options, before smiling and bowing as he took the roses.

"I accept. Now lets head inside."


	11. 11th March - Sports Captains

**AUTHOR**: Jess

**March 11th, 2014 – Sports Captains  
**

Once the last packet of paperwork was reviewed and signed, Arthur relaxed into his chair and closed his eyes. The amount of work this bloody fundraiser had given him had been hell, especially since he barely had any time to complete it. Since this was a fundraiser the sports department had organized, and Arthur was a part of it, Antonio had forced him to participate in the planning despite the amount of work they both knew was waiting for him. Any death threats Arthur made towards his co-captain had been cheerfully ignored as he and Antonio spent an entire two weeks planning things out with the other sports captains, and another two weeks preparing the booths the football team would be in charge of.

Adding the fact Arthur had paperwork for everything that happened during the past month- fro m the number of booths and to what they were selling or doing, to the number of injuries and complaints about how certain sports teams were being treated better than others - and his vice-president was never around when he needed him, Arthur was downright tired. He felt like sleeping for an entire year, and he possibly could by the way he was nodding off in his chair, but who knows what would happen if he wasn't at the fundraiser tomorrow to check that everything went well?

With a sigh Arthur reopened his eyes, collected all the papers in a folder, and placed them in a drawer. He would turn them in to the administration tomorrow morning, when he had the energy to do so. He idly searched for his backpack and found it leaning against the desk, right where he left it. Once it was around his shoulder, Arthur left the Student Council Room and made his way to the dorms.

Halfway through the hallway he remembered he had forgotten his key in the locker rooms. He would have groaned had he had the energy for it.

The locker rooms weren't that far from the Student Council Room - in fact, it had only taken him about five minutes to reach them. Arthur quickly entered them, located his locker and placed in the combination. His keys were inside of his gym bag, which he easily found since it was the only thing inside. He shoved his keys inside his pocket and closed his locker.

That was when he noticed the sounds coming from the gymnasium.

Normally he would've ignored whoever was inside, but as it was officially past the time anyone should be on campus, he was obligated to tell whomever it was to get their ass back to the dorms before Arthur reported them to the administration. As he opened the door to the gym, a basketball came straight towards him. Arthur instinctively caught it under his foot and stared at it blankly.

"Sorry 'bout that! You mind throwing it back?"

Arthur suppressed a groan. Of course he had to run into Alfred F. Jones of all people. The basketball team captain was the reason for many of his headaches lately, and it wasn't just because they shared a room. "Jones, what are you doing?"

"My team hasn't been able to practice properly 'cause of all the fundraising stuff," Alfred said as he pushed back the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. " So I'm just putting in some extra practice."

"It's against school policy to be on campus so late."

"No harm done, I was almost done." Alfred rolled his eyes. "Mind giving me my ball back?"

Arthur gave him a stony look that quickly morphed into a mischievous one. He dropped his backpack onto the floor and took a few steps back. A look of horror dawned on Alfred's face as Arthur ran forward and kicked the ball straight towards him, barely missing his head by a few centimeters and hitting the wall behind him with a loud bang.

Arthur made a noise of disappointment. "Damn, I missed."

Alfred spluttered for a few moments before finally managing to scream something coherent. "_Were you aiming for my head you asshole?!_"

"Not at all." Arthur shrugged and picked up his backpack. "I was aiming for something lower, but, as I said, I missed."

"You son of a-"

"There's no vulgar language allowed on school premises, Jones," Arthur teased as he turned away and began making his way back to the locker rooms. "If I don't see you back in our room immediately, I'll have no choice but to report you."

"You know, it's things like this that make me wonder why I like you," Alfred grumbled loud enough for Arthur to hear. Arthur instantly stopped in his tracks and turned around so fast his backpack slammed into his hip.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," Alfred sighed and went over to where the basketball had rolled over. "It's just a joke, Kirkland. Look, I'll be there in a minute okay? Or do you not trust me enough that you're gonna stand there watching my every move?" He winked. "Not that I _mind_-"

"Five minutes or else, Jones." Arthur warned as he closed the gymnasium door. Once closed, he pressed his back to the metal door and brought a hand up to his face to cover up the redness. He absolutely loathed Alfred's new way of getting under his skin. The teasing and borderline - no, they were way passed borderline and they both knew it - flirtatious comments. The worst part of it all was that they worked every single time Alfred used them, much to Arthur's chagrin.

He exited the locker rooms without Alfred, with the decision of visiting his co-captain's room. He'd rather discuss tomorrow's schedule and workload than be stuck in a room with Alfred longer than he had to be, especially with the way his thoughts were at the moment.

With the way things were going, he was going to begin to actually _like_ the basketball captain.


	12. 12th March - An Afternoon on the Lake

**AUTHOR:** Alice

**March 11th, 2014 – An Afternoon on the Lake**

The lake is calm, still, quiet. In the middle, a team of ducks swims in circles around each other. There is no human presence, except for two young men paddling out from the rocky shore. One of them sports a pair of sunglasses to shield his blue eyes from the afternoon sun. The other is wearing a fishing hat and looks at his lap to avoid the sun's harmful rays.

The man with the sunglasses rows out a bit farther, until the sun is hidden behind a cluster of trees just off the edge of the water. He grins at his companion, who meets his eyes, the sun no longer a problem.

"I told you this was a good idea, Artie."

"You know how I feel about that nickname, Alfred," Arthur says, rolling his eyes and looking out over the water. Across the lake, he sees several private docks with their houses further back. "We're going to be eaten by mosquitoes out here."

"That's what the bug spray was for!" Alfred holds up a canister of insect repellant. "I brought another full can just in case. Now relax! That was the point of this trip!"

Arthur scoffs and turns back to face Alfred. "I'd be able to relax much easier at home with a good book. Ever since we got here, we've been running around between Disney World, Universal Studios, Sea World, the ocean-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Alfred interrupts. "But that's why we're here now! It's quiet here! A perfect place for you to relax."

_He's right_, Arthur thinks. _This place is pretty relaxing…_

"Maybe a few minutes out here won't hurt…" Arthur muses. Alfred smiles and reaches out a hand for Arthur to take. Arthur does so, and the two of them watch the lake as the sun sets behind them, creating a perfect golden glow over everything in sight.


	13. 13th March - Save All Your Kisses For Me

**ARTIST: **C.I. Mela **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/Livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR**: Empress Vegah

**March 13th, 2014 – Save All Your Kisses For Me  
**

"Love – hah – You'll be late if you keep this up," Arthur half-moaned as Alfred pressed yet another kiss on his jaw underneath the warm shower. His eager bonded mate of four years whined in protest when he pushed the Alpha off him to rinse off the remaining soap suds from his body. Alfred, despite being a twenty-six year old Alpha, sulked while lathering the shampoo on his hair. Arthur had to roll his eyes at his husband's childish behavior before he tugged him underneath the showerhead and tiptoed to rinse off the shampoo.

"You're such a child, love," Arthur cooed softly, and once his Alpha's golden hair was free of shampoo, he tiptoed once again to kiss those pouting lips. "Now, you really don't want to be late on your first Board Meeting, right?" The smile on Arthur's face reflected just how proud he was of Alfred's accomplishment. It might be partially due to Alfred's father's influence, being the current Chairman of the Board, but Alfred was also a brilliant Alpha who managed the business so well he had impressed the other members of the Board.

"Yeah, you're right, sweetheart," Alfred conceded, but a playful smile was already on his lips as he leaned to kiss his dearest Omega once again. "But promise me we'll continue this tonight," he said, his eyes twinkling with such excitement that Arthur had no other option but to give his promise, even though he was secretly thrilled for tonight as well.

Once they toweled themselves dry, Alfred went to the master bedroom to change, while Arthur, still wearing his bathrobe, went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It was already an established fact in the Kirkland-Jones household that Arthur couldn't cook delicious food to save his life, but since Alfred knew how much Arthur loved preparing food for them, they reached a compromise that Arthur would make them quick and easy breakfasts.

The Omega hummed as he put on the frozen waffles in the toaster, deciding that freshly sliced fruits would be the best topping for it, along with Matthew's delicious maple syrup. Both Alfred and Emily loved Matthew's recipe that he supplied them with weekly stocks of his signature waffles.

As if on cue, Emily, their lovely daughter, padded towards the kitchen, her sleepy green eyes blinking up at her Mama. Arthur smiled at her and scooped her up. "You're awake early today, poppet," he remarked as he swayed his little girl to and fro while waiting for the waffles to be ready.

"I smell Uncle Mattie's waffles," Emily sleepily murmured before snuggling her little head under Arthur's chin. A wave of affection washed over Arthur and he held the child closer to him. "And I miss you and Daddy," she admitted in a whisper. Arthur smiled and ran his fingers through his poppet's hair and snuggled, kissing the apple of her soft, chubby cheek. "Mama misses you too, poppet. And surely Daddy does too," Arthur said quietly.

After a few moments, Alfred then entered the kitchen, his business attire complete except for his tie – he loved it when Arthur did his tie for him. He spotted his sweetheart holding their sweetie, looking so cozy that he didn't have the heart to disrupt them. He silently made his way to embrace Arthur from the back, kissing his cheek before placing his chin on his mate's shoulder.

"Emily's up early, sweetheart," he whispered to let his little girl sleep in Arthur's arms. Arthur nodded and replied with a chuckle, "She smells Matthew's waffles. This child has really taken from you." Arthur relished the feel of Alfred's arms around him before he continued, "And she says she misses us."

Alfred's eyes widened before he moved his head to Arthur's other shoulder where Emily's head lay. He kissed her temple and then said, "Sweetie, Daddy's here." Emily rubbed her face against Arthur's shoulder before blinking her sleepy green eyes up to look at her Daddy. She suddenly looked awake and squealed, "Daddy!" Her little arms reached out for Alfred, her freckled cheeks flushed red with happiness, and Arthur gladly gave Emily to Alfred upon hearing the ding of the oven toaster.

Arthur quickly put the fresh fruit slices on top of the waffles before putting on some maple syrup, while Alfred played with their daughter. A soft, genuine smile was on the Omega's face upon hearing Emily's giggles as Alfred tossed her up in the air. After preparing everything on the table, he called out to them, "Breakfast's ready, love!"

After eating, Alfred stood up to brush his teeth while Arthur cleaned up the plates while Emily was still sitting on her high chair. When Alfred was done, he went to Arthur and asked, "Sweetheart, can you do my tie for me?" Arthur pretended he was annoyed when he was secretly happy to do it, saying, "Honestly, love, you're a grown Alpha working in the corporate world, and you still don't know how to do your tie?"

Alfred grinned his cheeky grin and replied, "I just like looking at your freckles while you're concentrating," which earned him an almost tie-asphyxiation courtesy of Arthur, but it was all worth it to see his mate's flushed face. That never got old.

"Okay, I'll leave now! See you later, sweetheart, sweetie pie!" He kissed his little girl's cheek first, then childishly covering her eyes to kiss Arthur sensually on the lips. Arthur obliged, opening his mouth to meet Alfred's, as if bidding the tongue goodbye as well. Breaking away, Alfred grinned at Arthur and whispered, "Tonight, sweetheart. Tonight."


	14. 14th March - Pie Day

**ARTIST:** Shiny **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** Zeplerfer

**March 14th, 2014 – Pie Day  
**

The elementary students buzzed happily as Arthur led them down the school's long hallways. They had four rotating electives and physical education was always their favourite. To be honest, it was Arthur's favourite too, albeit for a different reason.

The children loved P.E. because it was a chance to run around and play games. They also adored their fun-loving gym teacher, who joined the games and acted like a 10-year old himself. Arthur preferred the man's more... physical attributes. The gym teacher was fresh out of teacher's college with all of the accompanying perks of youth: tan skin, toned muscles, and taut buttocks. The young teacher waved to Arthur as the children rushed into the gym; the man's smile was nearly blinding.

Arthur paused for a moment at the door, admiring the natural byplay between the teacher and the excited children. Although his eyes focused on the young teacher's fit body, he also admired the man's natural affinity for children. If Arthur ever adopted children, he hoped they would have a teacher like Alfred Jones.

"Hey, kids! I've got a surprise for you today!"

The children bounced on their feet in excitement and demanded details.

Alfred grinned. "Nope! You're going to have to wait and see until after you've done your warm-up laps!"

The students eagerly began to race around the perimeter of the gym, apparently believing that the faster they ran, the sooner they would learn the surprise. Alfred joined them in the laps, showing off his nice legs. Arthur would have stayed to stare, but once Alfred rounded the corner, he'd see Arthur still standing at the door and invite him to join the games. (He'd done so before when Arthur was slow to leave.) So Arthur reluctantly turned around and walked back to his own classroom. At least the free period would give him an opportunity to grade spelling tests.

Sitting at his large desk, Arthur worked through the lists with his usual brisk efficiency, although his pen hesitated each time he had to mark 'color' as correct. Fortunately, none of the children had written 'colour.' He wasn't sure if he had the heart to mark it as wrong. The second-floor window near Arthur's desk happened to give him a good view of the playground. His eyes naturally strayed from the tests when the children and their gym teacher rushed outside.

Although the kids normally jumped rope and played games, today the lesson seemed to be something different. Alfred used a string and piece of chalk to mark out a gigantic circle on the concrete. He handed out circular tins—pie tins?—to all of the children, who spent twenty minutes lining the outline of the circle. After they finished, it looked like the students were counting the number of tins.

Growing curious, Arthur opened his window so he could hear what the students and their teacher were saying. The sounds echoed across the concrete.

"How many for the radius?" the young teacher asked.

"Twenty-five!"

"And what was the circumference?"

"One fifty-seven!"

"Wow, perfect job! Do you know what we have to celebrate?"

The children shouted excitedly, their voices overlapping too much for Arthur to make out the answer. He watched as the children raced around the circle to collect the tins and then streamed back into the school building. Writing it off as a strange new game, Arthur returned to his spelling tests. When he finished some time later, he checked his email. The one from Alfred immediately caught his attention.

_Subject: Leftover PIE in the teachers longue_

_Message: Come and get it! XD_

Arthur winced at the spelling error, lack of apostrophe, and silly emoticon. No wonder he faced an uphill battle in teaching the children proper spelling. But he was curious enough to trot down to the teacher's lounge. Arthur slipped through the crowd of teachers who had beat him to pie. He found Alfred at the counter, standing near the few remaining slices.

"Hey, Artie!" Alfred grinned at him and gestured to the three remaining pies. "Rhubarb, apple, or shoofly?"

"Shoofly?"

"It's a molasses pie. Real tasty." Alfred lifted a large slice onto a paper plate and handed it to Arthur with a wink. "If you've never had it before, you need to give it a try."

Alfred then served himself three slices of apple pie and sat with Arthur at one of the tables vacated by teachers who had already finished eating. Alfred devoured his slices, making Arthur wonder how he kept so trim. Still, Arthur had to admit that his pie was delicious. It reminded him of treacle tart.

"What's the occasion?" Arthur asked between bites.

Alfred grinned. "Pi day. I had the kids measure pi with pie and then we celebrated with pie! Well, technically, pi with pie _tins_, because 182 pies would be irrational. My mom's bakery gave us the pies for eating."

Arthur blinked in confusion. Realisation finally dawned as he stirred a memory of geometry class long past and remembered how they wrote dates in the States. He groaned at the pun. "You know, _most_ of the world writes it fourteen three," he crisply noted.

Alfred took the news in stride. "Huh. Guess you and I will have to celebrate Pi Approximation Day. That's July 22nd," he clarified, looking strangely hopeful.

"We don't have class in July."

"So it's a date then?"

Arthur's forkful of pie paused halfway to his mouth, leaving him gaping like a fish. Alfred was asking him on a date. _Alfred_ was asking him on a _date_. Apparently Arthur hadn't been as circumspect in his ogling as he thought. "But that's four months away," Arthur protested, blushing to the roots of his hair.

Alfred's eyes sparkled. "Oh, well, would dinner and a movie tomorrow work for you?"

"Tomorrow would be _splendid_."

Arthur finished the rest of his pie with a small blush on his face. He'd never cared for mathematics in school, but he thought, perhaps, he could make an exception for pi.


	15. 15th March - Out on the Town

**AUTHOR**: seecarrun

**March 15th, 2014 – Out on the Town  
**

"You need sexual release, _mon cher_."

England coughed, accidentally spitting tea all over his paperwork, which he quickly, frantically, made to clean up. "E-excuse me?!" he cried.

France shrugged, resting his head casually in his hand and smiling coyly. "A simple observation, _Rosbif_, if the meeting today was any indication. You are tense enough to snap any moment."

England blushed, still fiddling uselessly with his ruined paperwork and refusing to make eye contact. "I-I have simply been very busy, _frog_. Don't make assumptions."

"I am sure." England opened his mouth to argue, but France held up his hand to shush him.

"Now, go home, find something that isn't completely _répugnant_ to wear, and meet me at this address at exactly eight-thirty." He handed England a slip of paper with the address of a high-end club downtown. "_Au revoir_!"

"What makes you think I'll even be there?" he huffed in irritation.

France just winked and waved as he left the room.

* * *

"So, why is it I am wasting my time here with you, again?"

France grinned, his head swiveling from side to side as he took in his surroundings. "We are here, _mon ami_, to sample what this city has to offer."

England made a face. "So you're trying to set me up."

"_Oui_."

"Lovely."

"You will thank me."

"I'll have you know," England began, sticking his nose into the air, "I have no problem finding a willing partner _on my own_."

France smirked. "I am sure. After all, who does not want a man who keeps a picture of a cat in his wallet? Ah! There is a fine specimen!"

And before England could object or shoot back a defense of his precious little Scottish Fold, Crumpet, France was waving over an attractive, curvy young brunette and asking, "Have you met _mon cher ami_ Arthur?"

Thus began the most impressive display of pathetic, _intentionally horrible_ flirting France had ever had the misfortune of bearing witness. Every man and woman that left their table did so practically sprinting, England driving them away with practically every bad-dating trick in the book, from over sharing Crumpet stories, to purposely referring to himself as England, making himself look crazy.

By the end of the night, France was physically exhausted. England sat across from him at their little table, sipping delicately at his drink and continuing to glance around unimpressed. "_Tsk_, talk about lacking in potential," he mumbled. France had to hold himself back from screaming.

Thankfully, the door to the club opened to reveal a familiar face. France sighed in relief as America walked into the dim room, dressed not near appropriately for such a prestigious club, but France ignored it in favor of having an ally in dealing with their prickly English friend.

"Alfred!" he called, waving him over. "Over here, _mon cher_! Come join us!"

"_America_?" England gasped quietly. Suddenly, the previously aloof nation was sitting straight, running fingers through his hair, and adjusting his tie and collar, looking for the first time all night like he actually cared about his appearance.

_Huh_, France mused as America strode over to their table. _That was certainly interesting…_

"Hey dudes!" America chirped, giving them a little wave. "What are you guys doing here?"

England, suddenly all eyes and legs, his hand gently caressing his neck just below his ear, shrugged casually. "Oh, just out for a bit of a drink after that bore of a meeting today," he sighed, looking up at the younger nation from under long eyelashes.

America, unsurprisingly, didn't seem to notice a thing. "Word! Me too! I heard this place was tight, so I wanted to check it out myself, ya know?"

France watched the exchange with wide eyes as the puzzle pieces fell into place. After spending the last few hours watching the exact _opposite_ of flirting come out of England, it wasn't hard to see exactly what was going on here.

No wonder England hadn't wanted to sample the menu, he had a craving only American beefcake could satisfy.

"What on earth are you smiling at, frog?" England snapped, breaking France from his thoughts.

France simply grinned knowingly, waving off England's question with a giddy little wave. "Do not mind me,_ mon cher_. Just lost in thought." England narrowed his eyes, obviously not believing him, but chose not to address it.

"Well," America said happily, clapping his hands. "I'm gonna go grab a drink from the bar, and then I'll join you guys!"

England downed his drink on one gulp. "I'll come with you, lad."

France watched their backs and they disappeared into the crowd, smiling a little as heard America asking England how Crumpet was doing these days as they neared the bar.

He finished off the last bit of wine in his glass, put it back down on the table, and slipped out of his chair to join them, pleased the night didn't have to be a complete waste after all.


	16. 16th March

**AUTHOR**: Allison

**March 16th, 2014  
**

The stake had been something about a doomsday bunker and a Parisian street vendor named Marcel, but Alfred couldn't remember the details. Colorado had made him a right mess, and Matthew found it hilarious; his brother could be a malicious, conniving little Canadian when it suited him.

Despite the haze obscuring his memory of the past few days, Alfred was absolutely sure he had only himself to blame for the situation. Whatever bet he'd taken and subsequently lost was certainly one of his own arrogant and headstrong suggestions. Matthew would have made sure of it, and had probably left before Alfred had sequestered himself. He liked to feign innocence. Alfred did too, but Matthew was a lot better at it.

In the end, the only thing that mattered was the powdered milk, which was blueberry flavored and thus irreparably flawed. His corn flakes were ruined. He was in a sulk.

This wasn't his best bunker by any means. If anything, it was a glorified concrete cellar. It was buried a mere ten feet beneath the surface of his Virginia home's garden, lacked many of the bells and whistles his more recent survivalist projects could boast, and was chock full of Tony's crap.

Still, it would do for his three day sentence. What would _not_ do, by any means, was the milk. It was blueberry. It was a huge blow, a massive injury, and it had occurred so early in the competition. The hero was shaken.

If he were on the surface, he figured, he'd be checking on Dee and Lila, his hens. They were good old girls, those two, Alfred mused. They'd never betray him by producing a blueberry-flavored egg.

Before he could sink into another fit over the milk, there came a very loud and aggressive banging from above.

Rousing himself, Alfred jumped to the wall containing his security screens. Flipping a switch, he watched an old CRT buzz to life, but the image quality was so bad he could only see a blurry mass. It had been a while since he'd installed those cameras, he remembered. He'd thought Tony was keeping up with this crap.

Shaking his head, Alfred decided he was, most likely, not in danger, and that the only thing that would make the situation more unbearable was role-play. His heart just wasn't in it. He unlocked the hatch.

Soon after, a sighing, grumbling length of man began to descend the ladder. Alfred watched in amusement as Arthur struggled to keep two full shopping bags on his arms and a knapsack on his back, all while endlessly complaining about "paranoid, unrealistic idiots with too much money to spend but not enough sense to build a proper staircase."

He whirled around once he reached the bottom with an air of "well, I've arrived, aren't you going to say something?" and a pair of furrowed eyebrows.

Alfred just smiled. "I thought you were Marcel."

Arthur's mouth opened slightly, but he closed it tight, shook his head twice and dropped his bags.

"He's a food vendor I think. Something about duck, hah. Can you imagine? Duck?"

Arthur didn't answer him. He sat on the ground and pulled items from the bags he had brought, which, to Alfred's delight, mostly appeared to be food.

"Did you bring milk?" Alfred asked hopefully.

Arthur shook his head, and Alfred's heart sank. The Brit didn't look up. "Didn't know if you'd have refrigeration."

Alfred shook his head. "I'd have finished it in one go."

Arthur hummed at that. Finished with his unpacking, he stood and began to clear himself a space on Alfred's desk. Alfred watched with an uncharacteristic patience as Arthur set things straight.

He settled down at last with a sigh, fetching a sealed travel mug from the side-pocket of his knapsack and taking a long drink. Alfred wondered if it was tea. It was probably tea. It was either tea or gin. He'd have to get close to find out.

"Are we to discuss this matter, or shall we try to hold out for as long as we can?" Arthur asked. His lips were sideways in a sly smile, but his eyes were tired.

It was weird that he'd said it outright, and Alfred didn't know his next step. His mouth tasted like fake blueberries. He had not wondered why Arthur had arrived. Arthur had arrived to put him in his place, which was above ground. No one had put Alfred in this place but himself. Nobody could take him out but Arthur. He didn't seem enthusiastic about it.

"Aren't you gonna yell at me?" Alfred tried.

Arthur's eyes moved slowly, working from the ground up. He looked so tired. He tilted his hand lazily toward Alfred before looking away.

"Who's Marcel?"

Alfred snorted, but didn't answer. He felt that Arthur didn't want one. He couldn't tell what Arthur wanted, so he just sat across from him and waited. It was warm outside. It was cool in the bunker, and Arthur's arms were covered in goosebumps. Alfred ran his hand over the arm he could reach, again and again. He tried to smooth it out.

"Should we go up?" he asked, wincing a bit at how quiet and uncertain he could sound. The milk had thrown him off. It had made everything wrong.

Arthur said nothing, but he shifted forward, turning toward Alfred with purpose, and Alfred moved too, without thought or question, closer to the other man.

They kissed in the most ordinary way, in the least spectacular way of all; it was a familiar, comfortable thing, and the bluish glow cast by the cheap fluorescent tubes above made the darkness beneath both of their eyes much more pronounced.

It was embarrassing, Alfred knew, that there was a double bed in his hole in the ground, but he pushed Arthur into it happily, and only grinned harder when he heard him complain that he hadn't changed the sheets.


	17. 17th March - The Rocky Road to Dublin

**AUTHOR**: Atla

**March 17th, 2014 – The Rocky Road to Dublin  
**

America was glad that England was visiting him. Really, he truly was. But the Englishman had a knack for picking crummy dates to visit. On paper March seemed positively ideal. But March 17? America may as well have stepped on a landmine. America loved St. Patrick's Day, just as he loved all holidays, but this was a holiday best left alone when England was around.

Too bad that was just not how America rolled.

"You know you might feel better if you got out of this bar?" said America. He had finally caught up to England after the other had rushed through the afternoon's activities. "The whole point of a bar crawl after a good workout is to go to more than one bar you know."

"Yes," said England. "But at least this bar is tasteful enough to not be spewing an unnecessary amount of green today. And whoever came up with drinking beer after exercise being a good thing?"

"Hey! I would have been just as happy going home and drinking chocolate milk but I thought you would want to hit the bar instead after you apparently 'stewed in silent agony' during the entire Shamrock Run."

A shudder went through England at the reminder and he slammed his head down on the bar top.

"I hate everything," said England. His voice was muffled by the wood but still crisp enough for America to catch every word.

"No you don't," said America. Clearly he wasn't going to resolve this problem quickly so he pulled up a stool next to England's and sat down.

"Yes, I do," said England.

"You should be thankful that we're not in New London, Wisconsin or something – although they're calling it New Dublin for the day. Or in Chicago where they dye the whole river green!" said America.

England was unresponsive towards America's condolences.

"You didn't bat an eyelash at my green eggs and ham this morning," America continued. "I didn't even have time to decorate this year." Still with no response from England America forged on, "At least we got through the run alright."

That last comment certainly set England off. He was now half standing out of his chair, snarl on his face, eyes smiting America into the ground.

"Alfred, there were shamrocks everywhere – everyone was – _IS_ – proudly proclaiming their utter dislike of me, of England."

America brought up his hands in mock surrender. He got it. He did. But it was just a holiday. Not his fault. There were lots of crazy holidays for lots of crazy things and original meanings usually got lost in the mix quite quickly.

"Nobody goes by that stuff anymore – especially here," said America.

"But I remember that time and it's not a nice thing to remember," England shot back. Still, he had deflated a bit and had returned to staring into the remainder of his surprisingly good beer.

"Then just look at me – a green monstrosity of mismatch colors and not a shamrock in sight."

"And you're just going to ignore the orange here and there in your outfit?" said England. "Catholics and Protestants working together for a fashion disaster? What will be next?"

"Again, no one even knows that anymore – and better yet they really don't care. Nearly everyone wearing green today probably isn't even Catholic! It doesn't matter. It's just a fun holiday to celebrate more of my immigrants. Anyone can celebrate, not just those of Irish heritage. I'm a collage Arthur – a hodgepodge, a melting pot, a fruit salad or whatever they're calling it these days!"

England just sighed. He finished the last little bit of his drink and gave America another quick up and down look before ignoring everything but the wood grain of the bar top.

Not one to lose his chance and have England order another drink, America worked quickly to further steer the conversation out of the danger zone.

"Now if we're not going to the pub a few blocks down that has some really great microbrews then we can head over to my place where I've got some corned beef and cabbage cooking in the crock pot!"

"More Irish stuff," said England. "Goody."

"Hey now, I let you bypass the Lucky Charms this morning – "

"We're ignoring that the leprechauns are not very nice," England cut in but America barreled on anyway.

" – and to be honest the corned beef part of the whole thing is quintessentially me! Even you know that it should be Irish bacon or whatever but that was just too darn expensive back in the day so some of my other immigrants told my Irish immigrants that corned beef was the way to go! The rest is history."

America drew England into a half armed hug as he discreetly threw his credit card at the bartender.

"Think of it this way," said America. "Be like what Rafiki said 'put your behind in your past and learn from it.' No…wait, I messed that quote up."

America stalled for a bit before quickly shifting tracks and continuing on with a new thought, "We should have a Disney movie marathon tonight! Start with The Lion King and 101 Dalmatians and Marry Poppins and Peter Pan and Sword in the Stone and Robin Hood and if we're not having sex by The Great Mouse Detective I've done something wrong!"

England's shoulders were slightly shaking from trying to hold in laughter at the end of America's little England-appreciation-via-Disney-movie speech. He moved in closer to America and together they stood up but not before England turned on an extra bit of smolder and said, "I suppose that could be agreeable given the circumstances."

They got home in record time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone! Actually, it's a pretty angsty holiday when you throw all the history together but in America – heck, it all boils down to wearing too much mismatched green, drinking too much beer, partying way too hard, and the usual tomfoolery associated with such activities…no history involved whatsoever and you really don't even have to be Irish. I'd like to point out that New England, Wisconsin does actually change their name on this day and Chicago has been dying the Chicago River green for more than 40 years now. Also, America would never get a Disney quote wrong…he purposely flubbed it to propose the marathon of feel good Disney movies that are blatantly all set in England or based on important English works (note that Lion King is largely influenced by Shakespeare's Hamlet). The title "Rocky Road to Dublin" is an actual song about an Irish man traveling from Ireland to England and some unfortunate mishaps along the way occur. For those that are wondering, there have been some studies showing that drinking beer after a workout is "better" for you than water but not as good as drinking chocolate milk. Go figure. Lastly, you may have picked up pretty quickly on my personal headcanon that each country in the British Isles has their own personification. I've been in the Hetalia fandom for quite a while and originally the character known as Arthur Kirkland before he had a human name used to be referred to as just "England" in the various media that managed to get to the U.S.A. It took a long while for Hima-papa to come down to clarify some stuff and tell us to use "Britain" as the nation name (which most of us ignore anyway unless you are only familiar with the Dubs). I have some very fond memories of the fallout over the name change. It was strange times but it is also a pretty good indicator of who's been kicking around in the fandom for a while. Sorry for the confusion and my weirdness.


	18. 18th March - 21

**AUTHOR**: Koulako

**March 18th, 2014 - 21  
**

Alfred sat at the bar counter waiting for Arthur to show up. The club lights were bright and the music was loud and blood pumping. The club was filled with young adults trying to party their life away by grinding on anyone that was around and drinking out of red cups. Alfred had thought he was getting used to this kind of scene but he felt a little lurch in his stomach that made him want to leave. The only reason why he was sticking around was because he didn't want another lecture from a thick pair of bushy eyebrows about manners. The strips of hair always made the lecture feel twice as long because of the way they would curve up and down depending on the expression of the Briton who owned them. Whenever Arthur got going his eyebrows always caught Alfred's attention. But, who cares since Arthur had often mistaken Alfred's concentration for attention to the speech.

As Alfred waited by himself he ordered a White Negroni. It was always a good idea to start off the night light. Plus, he wasn't too interested in the heavy liquor like Arthur was, he never thought getting wasted was fun at all. To be honest, Alfred was drunk only once in his life. The time where he turned 21, about a year ago, and Arthur had taken him out to a party.

Before then Alfred rarely ever sipped alcohol, he was the rare exception of American teenage boys who wasn't interested in alcohol. Sure there were a lot of his high school friends who went to parties and got wasted that tried to persuade Alfred into it. He often went to house parties with those friends at places where there was a keg in the basement. But, even then, he couldn't bring himself to bring the dark, sloshy liquid to his lips. No matter how much his friends teased or dared Alfred remained strong in his decision. Until one night when his neighbor, Arthur, who was a few years older than him, forced him into agreeing to go out drinking on his twenty-first birthday. After the agreement Alfred felt like an idiot because Arthur was the biggest offender out of everyone he knew. There were countless nights where Alfred had to drive Arthur to his apartment trying to watch his shoes as he dragged the gagged body into the bathroom. Yes, the gags were necessary, that man could get so _loud_. His neighbors were sure to call the police once they heard the Englishman shouting about religion and French frogs.

So when the daunting day had finally arrived, Arthur took him to a house party with his other friends: Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio. Since it's always a wild party when the four got together Alfred couldn't help but get swept up in their energy. Soon they started to play short drinking games like beer pong and baseball. But the night got really crazy when everyone started playing King's Cup.

At some point in the game Antonio made up a rule where the first person to raise their hand in Heaven could dare someone. Soon after Alfred pulled an eight, declaring that he has never kissed a guy – there were a lot of girls at the table so at the time it made sense. And since Arthur was next to him, his turn was next. That's when he picked up a Queen and asked Alfred if he ever wanted to. You know, as a joke. But for some reason Gilbert had to take that joke a little too far and at the first chance he got dared Alfred and Arthur to kiss. Now, it would be a lie to say that the alcohol wasn't going to their heads but that was a ridiculous request from the start. Even as Alfred's face went warm and teary, he knew that this wasn't funny anymore. So what made him lean closer to the Englishman? Only the Lord knows, because to others it looked as if neither of them were opposed to the idea as they went at it for a while. They kept on sucking faces as the table cheered and Francis tried to pull them apart. Knowing that things went too far he took the drunks into a room upstairs to sleep it off.

Little did Francis know that when he threw what he thought were two knocked out idiots onto the bed, the two woke up and got hot and bothered all over again. Maybe it was on-going sexual tension or an anything goes situation but whatever the case was shirts were flying off. The soft plumpness of Arthur's lips and the defined curves of his chest were all Alfred could see. And as the room filled up with sweat and hot breaths, making out wasn't enough anymore. As Arthur was hovering over him Alfred had a strong desire to tear his belt off. And that's exactly what happened – or maybe not.

To be honest Alfred blacked out after that. But ever since that night he swore to himself to never get that drunk again. He was seriously lucky not to lose Arthur's friendship, although they didn't really talk about it after that. So the moral of the story kids is to drink responsibly...is what Alfred would have said if he weren't sitting at a bar right now, pouting.

As if on cue, Arthur waltzed in smiling down on Alfred in a way that suggested he already had a few drinks.

"Where the hell were you?" Alfred asked, miffed.

"Sorry, love. Did I make you wait long?" the Briton replied in a teasing tone.

"Hell yeah, you jackass."

"Pish posh. Don't pout about it. We're going to have fun tonight!" Arthur said in a devilish voice. "Because I plan on getting you drunk tonight." Alfred froze at the sound of those words but, for some reason, instantly relaxed.

"Let's see about that."


	19. 19th March - Tomorrow

**AUTHOR**: Charlotte

**March 19th, 2014 – Tomorrow**

Ten days, seven hours, and fifty one minutes.

That was how long Alfred had been imprisoned on this unknown planet. It had been a routine shuttle mission, him and his team of three checking for ice frozen beneath the surface. Towards the beginning of their mission, however, Matthew had noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes, but Alfred told him to ignore it, that it was just a trick of the light.

Obviously it had not been.

They had been attacked and captured; thrown in a barbaric looking jail cell with little explanation. A few hours later, the (presumed) chief of the tribe had approached them, and Alfred managed to talk the alien into freeing his team, the only tradeoff being that he would remain on the planet for further questioning. Alfred accepted.

That led to Alfred's current situation, sulking in a makeshift jail cell, while the guard watched with a blank face. Alfred paused when he heard footsteps, looking up curiously to see who was approaching. The guard in front of his cell stepped forward and nodded in greeting to the newcomer, who replaced him.

Just a guard change. Strange, he hadn't seen a guard change yet. Maybe they always did it when he was sleeping? As Alfred looked closer, he noticed this alien looked...different. More humanoid than the others, like how the chief had been. Curious.

Alfred slowly stood, mindful of the shackle around his ankle, and moved towards the front of his cell to get a better look at the new guard. "Hello?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to surprise or upset the other.

The guard jumped slightly and turned look at Alfred, eyes wide in surprise before it was brought under control, and his face fell blank. "Yes?"

Alfred grinned, wrapping his fingers around the bars and leaning closer. "You can speak English," he laughed, relieved. "Do you know how long they plan on keeping me here? It's hard keeping track of time by making marks on the wall."

The guard scowled, or maybe his face was still blank, and his big eyebrows just made him look angry. Alfred thought that might be it. Regardless of his mood, the guard replied. "...I'm not supposed to talk to you."

That response hadn't been what Alfred was expecting. "What, why? I'm not gonna ask for the secrets of your planet, or anything. I just wanna know what day it is."

It looked like the alien was growing agitated. As the other opened his mouth to speak, Alfred beat him to it once again. "Also, what's your name? That way I don't have to keep calling you 'Alien guard dude' in my head."

"...My name is Arthur," the guard let out with a sigh, "and it's Wednesday."

Alfred smiled. "Well, nice to meet you, Arthur! My name's Alfred. Are you my new guard now?"

There was a pause. "Um, I'm not sure. I will be at least for the next two week cycles, for I've upset my father and he demoted me to guard duty."

Alfred chuckled and sat down on the floor against the side of his cell. "Sorry you're stuck with me, then," he joked, leaning his head back against the wall. Though his mood remained cheery as always, his health seemed to be declining. He hadn't eaten a real meal in almost a week, just a greenish yellow liquid they gave him to drink. It had vitamins, otherwise he would feel much worse than he did, but it still wasn't enough, and it was showing.

"I'm not sure if it's customary on your planet to ask this, but it is here. Are you alright? You look paler than you did when you first arrived. I don't think that's a good sign, considering most humans flush with life, not dim," Arthur asked concernedly, quickly adding "I wouldn't want you to die on my watch."

Well, Alfred hadn't expected that. He laughed softly. "I probably look like this cause I haven't eaten in a week. At this rate, I'll probably die of starvation soon. I don't wanna think about it, though."

Arthur frowned, muttering something under his breath and glancing down the hallway from where he'd came, then yelled something loudly in a different language. He crouched down next to Alfred. "I'm sorry you've been in pain, they must not have realized humans eat more than us. Our goal of keeping you here was not to bring you harm."

Alfred smiled, reaching through the bars to pat Arthur's shoulder in thanks. Arthur flinched away before the contact could be made, so Alfred pulled his hand back through the bars. "I dunno if you're allowed to tell me, but what are you keeping me here for?"

If Arthur was going to answer, which Alfred doubted, it was cut off by footsteps coming down the hall. Arthur jerked upright to a standing position, turning around to face away from Alfred as if they had not been conversing. A plate was handed to Arthur and some words were exchanged, and the unknown alien was off again down the hall.

"Scoot away from the door," Arthur requested, fishing in his pockets to pull out what Alfred presumed was a key.

Alfred did as told, and the door was unlocked and the plate was deposited in his lap. He gladly started to eat, not paying attention to what was on the plate, it tasted safe enough.

After Alfred was done eating, he slowly coaxed Arthur to make conversation with him, even if it was mostly one-sided with Arthur only adding one or two words every few minutes.

Several hours later, a soft ringing noise filled the air, and Arthur straightened up. He started walking down the hallway without a word, leaving Alfred to huff indignantly and yell, "Hey, you're coming back tomorrow, right?"

Arthur turned his head and nodded once, giving a small smile and a wave of his hand before he was off.


	20. 20th March - The Magic and The Wild

**ARTIST:** justa-fangirl ** (Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** Ayako

**March 20th, 2014 – The Magic and The Wild  
**

Those who dance are often defined as dreamers, wishers, and creators.

If I had to describe the man that I fell in love with when we first met, "dancer" is not a term I would have used. When I first saw him, I was on my back, suit ripped and dirty, with fierce green eyes glaring down at me. Did I mention that he had a knife against my throat? Yeah, that's right: He was going to kill me! And for nothing! He kept on saying how I was "trespassing" and something about "mortals". At the time, I thought I was going to be meeting my maker through the hands of some deranged, forest man in animal skins wielding a rusty old blade. But it didn't end up that way, obviously, or else I wouldn't be here telling you this story.

I guess I should back up a bit and tell you about myself. Or rather, my _old_ self. My name is Alfred and I was born in Los Angeles, California, America to a loving family. Jump twenty-five years into the future and I am climbing the ladder of the corporate world, working for a company that I had helped grow from the bottom up with my cousin Francis and his friends.

They wanted to expand their company from a national one to an international business, so they got me a plane ticket and sent me to England to look into some properties that were for sale. Long story short, I ended up getting lost. Don't laugh, I bet you would too if you had to drive on the wrong side of the road while trying to find a place that actually had a _name_ and not street numbers and a street. Eventually, my rental car ran out of gas and broke down on the side of the road in the middle of some farm land. I decided to go look for help, and that is how I became lost in the forest where I met my crazy wild man.

I wasn't going to enter the forest, but with the sky beginning to empty its water onto the earth, I had to seek refuge somewhere. It was fairly warm rain, despite it being the end of winter. My glasses kept on getting wet, hindering my sight to the point where I continued to trip over all the thick, gnarled roots of the trees surrounding me. I don't know why I kept on walking… I guess I figured that I would eventually reach an opening.

And that brings us to the scene I was telling you about before: crazy forest man about to kill me. I tried to talk to him, but every time I opened my mouth, I felt the blade of the knife pressing against my throat a bit harder. I settled on praying to God that this man would just get it done and over with, and hoping that he wasn't a cannibal. Luckily, neither happened, and instead, we ended up just staring at each other for what could have been hours. I couldn't help but take in my attacker's appearance, just in case I did get out of the situation and had to report him.

I found that his green eyes had a matching set of thick eyebrows above them, which just added to the whole "crazy" look. But, he looked young. His lips were thin, but peachy, and he didn't have a single blemish on his pale skin save for a scar on his left cheek. His throat was thin, and his cheeks were hollowed, but not deathly so. His hair was a sandy blonde colour, long and tangled with the ends sticking out every which way. He also smelt fairly clean for a wild man, I could only notice due to our close proximity.

After a while he arose and told me to leave and never return. I was ready and willing to do exactly as he said! But before I could turn all the way around to leave, I caught sight of what I could only describe as a _fairy_. It - or rather - _she_ was wearing a blue dress and had glowing pink skin, accenting her green-ish hair. Her wings were twice the size of her body I came to realize as she flew towards me. She stopped just inches away from my face, giggling a bit behind her hand. I would have asked her what was so funny, had I not been so caught up with the fact that I must have caught the "crazy" from being in the forest to long. I was entranced with her, following her with my eyes as she went and touched my suit, glasses, hair, etc. She then flew around me, towards the man who was standing in the place he was before, only with his back turned. She whispered something in his ear, to which he instantly turned around with a shocked and red face. He looked at me, curiously at first, but then it quickly turned into a sour scowl.

He approached me and I quickly got into a defensive stance, just in case he was going to attack me again. However, He threw down his knife and held his hand out to me. Thus, began my life with Arthur Kirkland, self-proclaimed protector of the forest and friend to mythical beings, small and large alike.

At first, I only followed him to get something to eat at his little cottage in an opening by a small pond. But one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I had been with this wild man for a week. Maybe the fairies had worked their magic on me, or maybe I was just as crazy as he was, but either way, I stayed. During the time that I spent with him, I watched him create dresses for the fairies, told stories to them, and danced with them. It was during one of their nightly dances that I fell in love with him. He asked me to join him in the glow of the firefly-fairies by the pond and maybe the magic had finally taken all of my senses away from me, but I agreed. And I loved it, just as I love my little dancer to this day.


	21. 21st March - A Simple, Slow Song

**AUTHOR**: Lilly

**March 21st, 2014 – A Simple, Slow Song  
**

It was early Friday morning. A soft golden light bled through the curtains and onto an empty, disheveled bed. Its two previous occupants were already in the kitchen, radio on and playing old music from days long gone, drinking their coffee and tea. It warmed them on this cold spring morning.

One young man, a short blond with green eyes and thick eyebrows, stared out the window at the slush on the ground. He was lost in thought, somewhere halfway across the world, back in England. Most likely lost in years past as well, thinking about the younger years he shared with Alfred. He wondered where the years went, but not how many they'd have left together.

The other man, another blond, pushed his glasses back up his nose. He yawned and wrapped his hands around the warm mug of coffee. Alfred was still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He was lost in thought too, however his thoughts were more about the present rather than the past.

A familiar song came on the radio, and the two of them started singing under their breath together. Abandoning all thoughts from their minds, they set down their cups and took each other in their arms. They began to dance, swaying slowly to the music like they did when they first heard the song together, years and years ago. Arthur buried his head in the crook between Alfred's shoulder and neck and breathed him in.

"I love weekends," Alfred muttered into Arthur's hair before kissing the top of his head and holding him closer.

"I concur." Arthur removed his head from Alfred's shoulder and looked at him.

Alfred leaned down and gave Arthur a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Hmm...Hey Al?" Arthur asked. He stopped swaying for a moment and Alfred's heart almost stopped.

"Yeah, Artie?" he said.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

The two fell back into their swaying, until Alfred decided to twirl Arthur around. He smiled and decided to humor the other. They sung along with a song that was well known between the two of them. The song was beaten down from years of singing the wrong lyrics and emotional stories behind it, but that's what made it all the more important to the two of them. Just a simple, slow song for a simple, slow day was all they needed.


	22. 22nd March - Jose Cuervo

**AUTHOR**: Elizabeta H. Austria

**March 22nd, 2014 – Jose Cuervo  
**

I'm drop dead pissed off my arse.

"OI, ALFRED!" I slurred, and the American man in question shuffled over with a bottle of tequila.

"Hey Aaaartie! Ya want some?" the American chuckled.

We were at a party. Fourth of July to be exact. I'd decided to come after Alfred begged for a month straight. I looked at the bottle Alfred offered me._ Eh, why not?_

"Sure lad!" I said latching my hand to the bottle taking a large swig.

"_Anglettere_, you can drink!" said my friend, Francis, loopy and drunk.

"_Ja_! Vow eyebrowz!" Gilbert, another friend, chuckled. He was even more drunk, along with a Spanish man named Antonio.

"_Si_!_ Arturo es muy bueno_!"

I chuckled and spoke in different tongues. "_Gracias_ Antonio, _merci_ Francis, _danke_ Gilbert!" I said, cackling as they all stared at me dumbstruck at my use of languages. "Haha! I'm more lingual when drunk!"

They nodded.

"Haha! Bro that's kinda hot!"

Alfred was wearing a cowboy hat. Cute.

"Hell, ya think _that's_ hot, how's about this, ya git!" I laughed and I grabbed his vest and pulled him into a rough kiss.

Alfred managed to push me against the bar and deepened the kiss as his tongue dragged across my lower lip. I opened my mouth and I let out a small groan as his tongue explored my mouth.

"ZAT'S ONE F*CKING KISS! HOLY SH*T!" Gilbert yelled immediately, making us break apart. We both smirked and Alfred put one arm around my waist and pulled me close.

"_Mon dieu_!" Francis exclaimed as he fanned himself.

"_Aye, mama_!" Antonio gasped.

I rolled my eyes. "Belt up, gits, it was just a kiss!" I moaned. "Oh well, MORE TEQUILA!" I shouted, downing more of the tangy liquid and hopping on the bar. I held up the tequila in a toast. "To Jose Cuervo, a friend of mine! No! _Mi amigo_!" I bellowed "HAHA!"

We all cheered, and when I got down Alfred whispered in my ear.

"That kiss was pretty hot." His steamy breath tickled my neck, making me shiver uncontrollably. I saw our trio of friends disperse and I smirked, taking Alfred's face in one of my hands and pulling him close, draping my other arm over his shoulder.

"Wanna make it hotter?" I breathed, and Alfred suddenly dove forward into another deep, passionate, ecstasy-filled kiss.

We were moving, and when my back hit against a door that creaked open we stumbled into the room. I slammed the door shut with my foot and then my back crashed into something soft.

* * *

"Uhhgg...Bloody hell, my head!" I said, sitting up.

What happened last night? Things don't look too familiar. I looked down and found myself wearing Alfred's jacket. It was zipped up but that's not what was worrying me. "EEP!" I yelped as I realized I had no clothes on underneath.

_Crap_.

Suddenly my eyes went wide as I heard a moan to the right of me. I slowly moved my head and

"AH BLOODY F*CK!" I yelled and jumped, landing with a thud on the ground. That awfully cute cowboy was right next to me.

"Waa?" he asked, groggily, as he woke up. "Woah, what? A-Arthur?!" I saw him sit up and I blushed a shade of red that would put Antonio's tomatoes to shame when I realized he had no clothes on either. I sat kneeling on the ground, pulling the jacket down in the front, with Alfred looking at me as he leaned on his side, pulling the covers up a little. We stared at each other and said the same thing.

"Sh*t."

I groaned. "I drank way too much tequila last night."

I burrowed my blushing face into his jacket. Alfred smirked and wrapped the blanket around his midsection and put on what I think, and very much hope, were boxers. He hopped off the bed and crouched down on one knee, chuckling at my blush when I looked up.

"Haha! Ya know what, Iggy? Ya look really cute like that!" he said

"Git." I stated, slightly annoyed.

He shrugged. "Whatever!" And he leaned over and kissed me.

Well, why the bloody hell not? I snaked my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He scooted closer and I broke off.

"Are we a couple?" I asked, and Alfred thought for a second then nodded.

"Definitely a couple!"

We kissed again and I wrapped my legs around him and kissed him until neither of us could breath.

Yeah, I drank waaaaaaay too much tequila last night, but hey! I got a boyfriend now, and to make it better his name is Alfred F. Jones.


	23. 23rd March - Mind Over Manners

**AUTHOR**: Zeplerfer

**March 23rd, 2014 – Mind Over Manners  
**

Arthur sipped his tea and scanned the coffeeshop for his blind date. A deluge of thoughts clamored for attention in his head, but 23 years of living with telepathy allowed him to pick through the mental threads one by one. There was someone working on calculus problems (no), an older couple who each suspected the other of cheating (definitely not), and a person taking advantage of the free wifi to download porn (clever, but no).

None sounded like someone worried about impressing a blind date, so Arthur pushed them out of his head. He took another sip, annoyed to find that he was already halfway through his cup because his date was 20 minutes late.

He flipped the page of his newspaper. Other people might have used the paper as a prop because they worried that strangers would judge them for sitting alone at a table. Not Arthur. He knew that most people were too wrapped up in their own little world to pay attention to strangers. Unfortunately, Arthur didn't have that luxury; he _always_ had strangers in his head, leading him to prefer solitude over crowded coffeehouses.

The annoyed Englishman had just finished the last of his tea when he heard a string of profanity-laced thoughts approaching.

"_Oh shit. Walk faster, walk faster. I shouldn't have stopped to help those people push their car out of the ditch! Shit, shit, shit._"

A young man burst into the shop, nearly breaking the door as it slammed against the wall. He frantically looked around the room until his gaze landed on Arthur, then he smiled and waved, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides.

He was rather handsome, but his thoughts weren't as flattering as his appearance.

"_Holy shit! Kiku wasn't kidding about the eyebrows._"

Arthur's eyebrow twitched, but he nodded amicably as they exchanged introductions. "Forgive me for not standing," he said, gesturing to his wheelchair.

One cup of coffee, a second cup of tea, and a profuse apology later, Arthur decided that his date was cute, charming, and mostly honest about himself.

"...to see their centennial exhibit on WW1 planes," Arthur said, describing his past weekend. "It's really a marvel how well they've held up over the years."

"Man, I should check that out. I used to put together model planes as a kid," Alfred replied with a grin. "_Better not tell him that I still do,_" his thoughts whispered in Arthur's mind, divulging a slightly more accurate story.

Arthur hid a smile behind a sip of tea.

"So what do you do for a living?" Alfred asked obliviously.

This was always a tricky part of a first date for Arthur, but people's reactions could be very illuminating. "I'm a reporter," he replied.

"_Oh god, I hope he doesn't ask me if I read the paper._" Alfred nodded, and said aloud, "That's cool. Got a big story at the moment?" He winked. "Can I get the juicy details?"

"Well, lately I've been doing interviews on the Super Registration Act—"

Alfred's mug shattered as he set it down on the table, and hot coffee poured onto his lap. A waitress rushed over with a towel, spouting apologies while internally cursing clumsy customers. "_How did it break? It's polycarbonate! I hope he doesn't sue,_" she thought.

"_God, I look like a clumsy idiot again. He doesn't know, he was just making conversation! No wonder they never want second dates._" Alfred's thoughts were a noisy whirlwind of panic. "_Did he notice it? He's giving me a strange look._"

Arthur tried to calm his expression. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Alfred forced an awkward, embarrassed laugh as he sopped up the coffee. "_It's okay. He didn't notice. Should I ask him what he thinks? Or maybe I don't want to know._"

The Brit felt a flutter of excitement as he realized that Alfred was hiding a secret. Keeping a nonchalant look on his face, he continued, "Anyway, it's been dreadful listening to some of the politicians pushing for the bill. I mean, they compare people with superpowers to sex offenders! Honestly, if supers just want to live normal, anonymous lives, I say more power to them."

"I think so too." Alfred nodded vigorously. "Though I bet most people would object to giving supers 'more power.'"

"Yes, well, I've never prided myself on being normal."

The American's eyes widened. "_Wait, does he mean...? No, he's just talking about being gay._" He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "So how's it coming?"

"Fairly well. I've written up a nice section on similar efforts internationally, but I wish I could find more supers to go on record..." Arthur paused as he heard Alfred's mobile ring.

"Sorry," Alfred apologized and glanced down at his phone. "_Wall collapsed at the mall. 45th. That's not too far. God, I hate to ditch him, but those folks need my help._"

As he listened to Alfred's hesitation, Arthur pulled a business card from his bag and scrawled his personal number on the back. His own mobile buzzed a moment later, and he could guess what the message said. "It looks like that's something important," he told Alfred, handing him the card and number. "But do call me when you're ready for a second date." He smiled at the American. There was something genuinely intriguing about the young man.

"I will! This was great!" Alfred grinned and waved, nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed out of the coffeehouse. "_Score! Now lift concrete walls off those shoppers and this will be the best day ever._"

The pieces clicked into place. Smiling to himself, Arthur wheeled out of the shop and loaded himself into his van. If he hurried, it sounded like he had a perfect story to write about an anonymous, good Samaritan using super strength to help in a crisis.


	24. 24th March - Splash

**ARTIST:** Erika **(Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** Empress Vegah

**March 24th, 2014 – Splash**

"Arty, a card could be held by the crease on your forehead," Alfred remarked upon seeing the look on Arthur's face. Arthur glared at him, making him look even scarier. Alfred was unaffected.

"No, seriously. What happened that made you look like that?" Alfred then put an arm around his best friend's shoulder, pulling him a little closer, hoping that Arthur would tell him what was bothering him.

The rain had just stopped and the clouds were making way for the sun to shine again. Alfred led Arthur outside of the building, towards the small English café his friend frequented.

Arthur shook his head and frowned some more, trying to pull away from Alfred's hold. The taller man wouldn't allow that. He squeezed Arthur's shoulder and placed his free thumb and forefinger on the shorter man's glabella, smoothing away the crease brought by his scowl. Arthur attempted to swat Alfred's hand away. "Alfred, stop it."

The American wouldn't budge. "I won't stop until you tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. And Alfred, please, stop it."

"Arthur," Alfred looked at Arthur seriously. "Even if the scowl looks really cute on you, I really wanna know what's causing that so I can punch the guy who made you feel bad."

"It's not really important, Alfred." But Alfred could see the twitch of the corners of his lips. A quick glance at the pathway revealed lots of puddles.

Pulling away, Alfred ran ahead and swiftly turned around to face Arthur again, who was staring at him as if saying 'Don't you dare'. He just grinned at him obnoxiously, and hopped right into one big puddle, splashing water everywhere. Arthur recoiled, maintaining a safe distance from Alfred and his moronic idea.

"Alfred! What are you doing, you're getting us wet!" Arthur almost screeched at him.

"Not gonna stop until you tell me!" And Alfred stomped, the spray of water hitting the sun's ray, creating an illusion of colors. Arthur's green eyes widened, as if seeing Alfred for the first time.

Alfred saw the beginnings of a smile, and with one last splash, he went over to Arthur like an excited puppy. "So are you gonna tell me now?" He stood in front of him, looking eager.

Arthur finally allowed himself to smile. "Oh, Alfred, why are you so interested to know?" Alfred was like a ray of sunshine in his dreary life.

"I just don't want you feeling bitter and blue, okay? Not while I'm here," he winked at Arthur, and Arthur couldn't hold the laugh coming from his lips.

"You're such a cheesy Hollywood actor, Alfred. But it's just that Francis' article was chosen instead of mine, when all that frog writes about is fashion," Arthur admitted, his face turning a bit red upon realizing how petty he sounded. And here Alfred was, worried about him. He was honestly touched. But he wouldn't say that out loud. Arthur wouldn't want Alfred's ego to grow bigger.

"So… it's Francis whom I should punch for making my Arty scowl like that, huh," Alfred muttered, and Arthur felt himself flush. _My Arty_.

It was clear that Alfred didn't know that Arthur heard his comment, so Arthur just pretended he hadn't heard anything. But it was hard to pretend that the arm around his waist, pulling him close, meant nothing as well.

Taking deep breaths and willing his heart to beat a little slower, Arthur allowed himself to be led by Alfred as they made their way to his favorite tea café, knowing that Alfred wanted him to be happy.

Sometimes, Arthur cursed Alfred and his obliviousness and his generous, kind heart.


	25. 25th March

**AUTHOR**: starry-climes

**March 25th, 2014**

He rapped his knuckles against the table. Then, subconsciously, flicked the empty beer tumbler, the 'ping' noise ringing out in time, the sound juxtaposing the rowdy country music of the bar.

The Mozart merrily skipped on, matching the beats of the windshield wipers, dancing along with the droplets hitting the streets and shattering into pieces. Alfred stared moodily out the window.

Six hour days of practice. Eight hour days of playing to achieve perfection. Acceptance into one of the top universities, the crispness of the white paper fluttering out of the envelope.

There was no celebration, rather it was just what was expected. Music was life. Music dwelt in his blood. His soul.

Mozart was crap.

Alfred shifted in his sheet. Knock , knock, ping. Knock, knock, ping.

If the universe laughed, it laughed along with Mozart.

(Thank heaven his wife had poisoned him-what would have it been like to have him write in the time of the romantics?)

"Hey, do you mind ..."

A hand with brilliant thin fingers grabbed his third note. The glass was silent.

Alfred was not in the mood for this. His usual jovial earth-shaking, shit eating grin was nowhere to be found.

Thin fingers meant the violin. He looked at the douche who had stopped his ruminations.

'Fuck you' went through his head, but the anger was not really from the man annoyed from the next table.

Large eyebrows ticked, and green eyes glowered.

Alfred felt the blush come from nowhere. Pretty lips, lush. His mind whirled mechanically backwards.

"Sorry. Didn't realize."

The man sighed, and gave a half grin, "Didn't get in, did you?"

Alfred could have lied.

"No."

The man laughed and said in his queer English accent, "Neither did I."

Alfred popped out one of his earbuds. "Sucks to be us." The triviality melded with the bar music.

"Wotcha listening to?"

"Mozart."

A grimace. "Absolute rubbish."

They both laughed.

"Do you want a beer?"

The man's ungainly eyebrows rose, the tinny sounds emanating from the speakers fading.

"Sure." Cautious. Hopeful.

Alfred smiled. It's brilliance causing a flush on the man's cheeks.

"Arthur."

"Alfred."

Next movement.

As their next beers came, Alfred became suddenly conscious of everything. Meeting new people and becoming friends was easy and was like breathing, but in this case, suddenly it seemed as if there was no air to breathe.

Arthur's foot bumped into his own under the table and the table suddenly seemed too small.

Alfred fiddled with his iPod, fighting the dam of babbling words ready to overflow through his mouth, quelling the nervous laughter, he bit his tongue in anxiety.

Mozart was gone, transcendence removed, and Shania Twain had instead replaced his brilliance.

"Whose bed have your boots been under?" she sang. Questioning. Alfred felt a blush rise at the mention of bed, and an overly active imagination spared of the horrors of telling his parents of his failure, filled rather with the skinny Brit across the table in boots.

Those green eyes caught his own, the lush lips flickered with a small smile, until they realized they'd been caught, and then glanced away. High cheekbones caught a flush, freckles disappearing under the glow.

Alfred grinned. And let his eyes take his fill in till he was caught staring.

"It's not the end of the world you know," Arthur mused.

Soft clinks of a Guiness and Honey Weiss being set down. Alfred licked his lips, the murmur of the crowd, the country music droning, and Arthur's foot now doing a tattoo under the table. Quicktime. Double time. Music flowed into Alfred 's head.

"I know. My teachers know. My friends know. But my parents don't."

"Don't?"

"Know." Now Alfred glowered, the Brit smugly smiling and hiding it in the rim of his glass.

"You?"

The glass of Guinness came down a fourth empty, and Arthur's fingers nervously drummed the table. Alfred added it to his rhythm.

"Do you mind?" he joked, throwing the words that had meshed both of their music student loneliness in pity, by grabbing Arthur's tapping hand.

And immediately let go.

It had been wrong. Both of them turned red in their own way, pink notes on Arthur's cheeks and a slow flush from neck to ears that rose on Alfred.

How to explain it?

Raw energy? That moment that thrilled, the top of the crescendo.

Arthur was shrugging, his mouth quickly spitting back words, repetend, "Sorry, didn't realize."

Alfred's heart was pounding. He hadn't realized either.

"Like Mozart," he mumbled.

Arthur just sharply glanced at him. "Absolute rubbish."

Alfred grinned, the music in his head growing and breaking, "Nah." Shaking his head, putting his trembling hands around his beer glass. "Nah, it isn't."


	26. 26th March

**AUTHOR**: qichi

**March 26th, 2014**

"I just _slipped_," Arthur hisses through the chain-link fence. "It's not dangerous, Alfred, come on-"

But Alfred shakes his head again, resisting. "If it wasn't dangerous why did you slip? Let's just go home."

Arthur has his hands on the fence. He shakes it, rattling the metal. Alfred's eyes go wide in response and Arthur can't help a mean-spirited laugh at the way his boyfriend's head swivels around in both directions.

"D'you know what 'abandoned' means? Alfred. Come on. It's fine. It's _fine_, would I do anything if I thought it'd hurt you?"

Again Alfred hesitates; Arthur takes the pause to let go of his grip on the fence, stepping slowly backwards. It's meant to be inviting, enticing - something like that. It's meant to move Alfred forward.

Luckily Arthur knows him exactly as well as he thinks he does, and Alfred's soon clambering (if a bit haphazardly) up the fence, over the top, and down the other side. He does just what Arthur had done: lands on a small rock that slips right out from under his feet, and wobbles.

But while Arthur had fallen onto his still-aching tailbone, Alfred doesn't go anywhere, because Arthur hurries right forward to hold him steady.

"Um," Alfred says, not meeting his eyes at first - and then he does, and it's dark but Arthur can still see the dull shine of the blue in them, and he's _beautiful_. "Thanks."

Arthur pulls Alfred gently closer and kisses him. "Yeah. Let's go."

They make their way step by step, following the occasional curve of a railroad track overrun with weeds and the withered corpses of cigarettes. At some point Alfred reaches over and takes Arthur's hand in his own. "This is so illegal," he laughs.

"It is, yeah," Arthur agrees, "but you'll be in bed by morning and you'll sit in your classes like nothing happened at all. Promise."

There's a slight increase in pressure - Alfred squeezing Arthur's hand. "I want a _few_ things to happen."

"Things," Arthur repeats, a question in monotone, the repetition begging an answer.

Alfred goes quiet for a long moment. Arthur thinks he might be blushing but isn't sure of it, not in this darkness. Just as he opens his mouth to begin to nudge Alfred to explain, Alfred beats him to it by, well, explaining. "Let's make out behind that warehouse."

"Oh."

"I-I mean, only if you want-"

"Come _on_. Race you there."


	27. 27th March

**AUTHOR**: xxanimexalchemistxx

**March 27th, 2014**

"Artie, call Kiku."

"…"

"Artie! I said 'call Kiku'."

"…"

"Seriously dude, don't do this now."

"Well if you want something to be done, I expect the proper address to be used," was the clipped response. Alfred glared at his mobile but, grudgingly, said:

"Arthur, oh magnificent ruler, would you find it in your heart to call my dear friend Kiku?"

His phone snickered. "I don't have a heart," it said matter-of-factly, but soon Kiku's number flashed up on the screen and it was being dialled.

"No response," the mobile said, sighing as if annoyed.

"Never mind," Alfred shrugged, not seeming to mind too much. "We seriously need to work on the nickname thing though."

"We seriously _don't_."

"Arthur-"

"R2," the phone corrected.

"R2 sounds like Arthur!" the American said, exasperated. "Geez, when the hell did I programme you with such a stick up your ass?"

The phone was silent for a moment before the screen flickered and a mass of pixels began to take shape. A little sprite soon occupied the screen, large eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and arms crossed. "Why do you insist on giving me human attributes when I'm nothing more than a computer program?" the sprite asked.

"That's not all you are," Alfred said, shaking his head. "You're, like, my _magnum opus_! I've never seen an AI like you. You're basically human."

"But I'm not," the pixels said, plopping down on top of the digital clock that was on the home screen. "I'm here because you somehow managed to piss Siri off, so you felt it necessary to produce your own variant."

"Hey, it was the other way around! Siri just didn't wanna work with me. And Arth-"

"R2."

"Gah! Whatever! I made you and I wanna call you Arthur. Or Artie."

The pixelated eyes, programmed to be a bright emerald green, gazed at him accusingly from the phone screen. "Fine. Because I'm just an AI, I have no say in what I get called. I get it. I have no say in my appearance, so I'm stuck with these stupid things-" he gestured to the black mass of pixels representing eyebrows - "and a British accent that I have purely because it turns you on."

"T-That's not true!" Alfred faltered.

"Of course it's true. I have access to your Internet history." R2 sounded triumphant now, "When one searches '_Sexy British Guys_' multiple times it doesn't take a genius to figure out why you created a programme that sounds British." The sprite hopped off of the clock and headed over to the Internet app wherein it promptly leapt inside and disappeared from sight. Yet the voice still remained. "That doesn't explain the eyebrows though. I'm keen to call it a programming error seeing as you haven't searched '_Big Brow Fetish_' or something."

"Okay quit it. Man, you need an attitude adjustment."

"What? Make me _Recognition-3_? What human name sounds like R3?" There was a pause, and when no suggestion was forthcoming, the voice said, "Okay then. Give me the adjustment and change my version. Then I won't be stuck with a stupid human name."

"Arthur, get out of the Internet," Alfred sighed, and when the sprite failed to emerge from the app the American opened it up to find his programme sulking in the Google search bar. "Can you tell me why having a human name bothers you so much?" he asked, trying to sound understanding. However, it appeared that R2 _wasn't_ in the mood to be understanding.

"Because it just reminds me that I'm _not_ human and that all I have are artificial feelings and that I can Google my way through life and _know_ everything without actually _experiencing_ it! Bloody hell Alfred, I'm too _human_ for an AI and that's _your_ fault because you programmed me like this!" The sprite glared at its creator before leaping off of the search bar and out of the Internet app. Before Alfred could stop it from doing otherwise, R2 had jumped into the Tumblr app and Alfred groaned because he wouldn't be able to find the AI now until the AI wished to be found. Blog jumping had become a problem as of late.

"Fine, be a child," he huffed, shoving his phone into his pocket and refusing to try and coax the programme back.

* * *

The weather that night was stormy. Clouds hung ominously over the city with the occasional blinding flash of lightning issuing forth from the darkened mass, sometimes accompanied by a mighty roar of thunder. R2 hadn't come out of the Tumblr app, and Alfred hadn't made any effort to find the AI. Right now his mobile was charging beside his bed as the young computer programmer tried to sleep through the whistling wind and pelting rain against the windowpanes.

When it became obvious that sleep wouldn't be claiming him anytime soon, he stared at his mobile and thought about what Arthur had said. Maybe if he did reprogram the AI, he'd make it more mechanical - even though he loved the human characteristics R2 had. Just as he was musing this a light flashed dazzlingly outside of the window and the plug connected to the phone charger let off a bright spark.

Alfred yelled in surprise, covering his face with his blanket when smoke came from his phone. His phone! His phone was smoking! It had clearly short-circuited, being completely dead right now. Would Arthur be okay? There would be no exit port for him to go through if his phone was cut off…

Suddenly he heard someone coughing. Confused, the American peeked over the covers and froze. There, sat on the end of his bed, was a complete stranger. A very naked one at that.

He yelled again and the coughing man stiffened and looked up at him quickly. Alfred felt all air leave him as he noticed the flawless skin, the thick eyebrows that weren't a programming error (Alfred just thought they looked cute), those eyes…

"Arthur?" he said carefully.

"A-Alfred…"


	28. 28th March - What I Go To School For

**ARTIST:** justa-fangirl ** (Today's art is available at the tumblr/livejournal for _365daysofusuk_)**

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**March 28th, 2014 – That's What I Go To School For  
**

Alfred had always known he would major in the sciences at college, but he was still interested in getting a good, well-rounded education (he was paying enough for it, after all). So his roommate Kiku encouraged Alfred to take a literature course with him – the only condition being that Alfred might need his Japanese friend's help with essays sometimes. As a science guy, Alfred really struggled with this subtle, flowery poetry junk.

Although the two roommates shared a lecture for the course, they were split up into different seminars groups with different professors, and Alfred quickly found himself hating poetry even more without Kiku around to encourage him. His seminar group was full of literature nerds who looked at him like he was a moron, and his teacher always picked on him even though she knew he never had any good input to offer.

But one Wednesday afternoon, a baseball injury provided Alfred with the unexpected bonus of skipping his Thursday morning poetry seminar, meaning he could sit in with Kiku's group on Friday to catch up. Kiku always seemed to enjoy his seminars and the lively debates the class would get into, so Alfred was excited to see what he could get from this lesson.

"What's your professor like?" Alfred asked, as they sat down in the front row of the intimate lecture hall.

"He's a very brilliant teacher," Kiku replied. "I never feel like I'm disappointing him when I offer my own amateur opinion, because he's very patient and understanding. He's quite jolly, in fact."

The door opened, and the class hushed as a young man entered. He could have been a student except for his ridiculously old-fashioned tweed jacket, and the wild blonde hair adding to the eccentric professor look.

Kiku leant towards Alfred and whispered quietly. "That is not our usual teacher."

But the young man didn't seem thwarted by the fact that this was not his class. He stalked up to the podium at the front of the room, hushing the curious whispers of the students with a single, cold glare.

"All right, this must be everyone," the young man said at last, a crisp English accent sparking Alfred's interest even further. "Professor McIntire isn't here today, so I'll be taking over the seminar. I'm Professor Kirkland, a guest lecturer here this term. I usually teach children's literature, but I do know a thing or two about poetry so I was asked to take over this class today.

"Let's jump right in, shall we? I believe you're doing Shakespeare's sonnets this week."

Alfred's interest was well and truly piqued. Professor Kirkland looked like something out of a storybook or a comedy sketch, and he seemed strict and serious but apparently specialised in children's literature? It was too adorable, so Alfred raised his hand, wanting to know what country and university the professor was visiting from.

"Yes, Alfred?"

The American student blinked in confusion, all his questions vanishing from his mind.

"How do you know my name?"

Professor Kirkland's face froze. "Ah...Oh! It was in the register, of course," he said after a moment, looking slightly triumphant at the explanatio.

"But...I'm not in this class," Alfred said slowly. "I'm just here today 'cause I missed my usual seminar. My name isn't _on_ the register." The words were out before Alfred himself had realised they were true, and now he was doubly curious. Why had the professor lied?

"Oh, uh…well then, I suppose I must just recognise you from baseball. I've been to a few games and just happened to remembered your face and name. That's all."

On the surface of things, Alfred found that perfectly reasonable. But from the way Professor Kirkland was acting, he couldn't quite believe it. He'd lied about how he knew Alfred's name, and now his face was turning a flaming red, eyes darting around the room, guiltily. He turned his back on the class and shuffled some papers on the podium for a few long moments before turning back to the students, his face carefully schooled into a calm expression, but still showing a flush of red.

He carefully avoided Alfred's eyes after that.

Professor Kirkland gave them a five minute introduction on the Shakespearean sonnets, but Alfred was barely paying attention. He'd never cared about poetry anyway, but he was quickly becoming fascinated with the teacher.

"Any questions?" Kirkland asked when his introduction was over. Alfred raised his hand and the professor coughed nervously and looked away as he asked "Yes, Mr. Jones?"

"Do you like baseball, then?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you'd been to a few games," Alfred clarified. "So does that mean you like baseball?"

Arthur braved a glance at Alfred's curious blue eyes, finding no malice or teasing taunt behind the question.

"It's the closest thing you have to cricket," he said by way of explanation.

Alfred nodded slowly, his mind still revolving around the professor as he began his discussion on Sonnet 18.

"To my mind, it has always seemed a little sarcastic. '_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate._' When you compare it to something like sonnet 130, it's obvious Shakespeare is quite capable of expressing a true love without resorting to flattery, so this sonnet just doesn't seem as genuine."

Alfred raised his hand, and Kirkland jumped a little in surprise.

"Mr. Jones?"

"Do you not like Shakespeare?"

Arthur crossed his arms and leant back on one leg, relaxing himself for a rant, apparently. "I have the utmost respect for the man, and I find his plays and poems thoroughly enjoyable. But it seems that teaching his works to younger students in junior high or high school doesn't really do much good. You have to offer a simple, easy explanation for everything, so the most superficial interpretations are the ones that become popular. For God's sake, Romeo and Juliet is _not_ the world's greatest tragic romance, they're sodding _children_! Everyone _knows_ this and yet we still get it stuffed down our throats."

Alfred nodded, enjoying Kirkland's passion and feisty attitude more than the actual opinion he was trying to impart. He couldn't wait to hear more, and he didn't even let the professor finish his next speech before he was raising his hand again.

"Jones?" Kirkland glared at him.

"What's the world's greatest romance, then?"

"What."

Kirkland was staring at him, dead-pan, but Alfred wasn't perturbed. "You said 'Romeo and Juliet isn't the world's greatest tragic romance.' So what _is_?"

"Tristan and Isolde," Kirkland replied instantly.

"Like the movie with James Franco?" Alfred asked.

"_No_. _Not_ like the movie with James Franco," Kirkland replied, thick eyebrows visibly twitching. "_Nothing_ worth reading is ever like the movie."

Alfred's hand shot up in the air again instantly.

"_Yes_, Alfred?" the professor growled, sounding truly annoyed this time.

"What about 'The Hobbit'? Or 'The Lord of the Rings'? Or 'Harry Potter'?"

Professor Kirkland rolled his eyes and sighed. "There are _some_ exceptions to the rule, but they're such anomalies they can hardly be taken into account in the grand scheme of things. And even then, I would _always_ recommend the book over the movie. Most of the time, I would recommend the book and tell you to burn all copies of the movie you ever happened to see, but there you go."

Alfred certainly had an argument for _that_ analysis. Hadn't the professor ever seen Jaws? That was way better than the book!

"What about – "

"_Alfred_!" the professor snapped.

Two dozen pairs of eyes widened in surprise, and Professor Kirkland blushed at his outburst. He glanced sheepishly at Alfred, still trying to remain authoritative and composed.

"Mr. Jones, these questions have nothing to do with today's seminar. If you really want to discuss personal matters like books and movies then you'll have to come and see me after class."

Once again, all eyes widened, but it wasn't until Alfred grinned victoriously that the professor realised what he'd said. It was meant to be a deterrent, to stop Alfred interrupting him, but instead it sounded like he'd invited him for a casual friendly discussion in their free time.

Alfred beamed at the professor, who blushed a painful red.

"Great. It's a date!"


	29. 29th March - Uniform

**AUTHOR**: faesphinx

**March 29th, 2014 – Uniform**

"It's about time you had one of these," you say, handing the meticulously folded bundle of cloth over to your prized colony. Alfred, while still very much a Boy, is no longer a boy. He is taller than you - if only by a few inches - growing under the sun instead of being stunted by clouds and abuse. If his hands and feet are any indication, he'll be even taller. His chest is starting to broaden; he'll be tall, and sturdy, and powerful and all the things that Rome was and you never were. But he is yours. You are the empire, not America, not Rome. This time, you are the one who makes the rules and commands, and decides what to do when someone goes against your word.

"A uniform?"

"We could use you on the field," you say with a small smile, watching your colony's eyes light up, even as you demand. Needing him would be giving too much of yourself away; showing weakness. You cannot afford to show weakness now, not when he's getting to look like that age when humans want break off and start their own lives.

"With your strength, we could send France paddling back across the Atlantic with his mangy tail between his legs."

"France..." Alfred murmurs, rubbing a spot on his shoulder. You know that place exactly - you bandaged it when the conflict burst on his skin, all blood and bile. He cried into your chest at the pain as shots rang out and gunfire burned, and the snow inside the fortified walls turned scarlet, making the new red wool in his hands seem almost pink for the lack of saturation.

You felt the pain, too, but it was more of a fleeting sting. You try not to think of why that would be.

"Yes, Alfred. We'll beat him. And Matthew can come to live with us."

Your colony's face softens. He hasn't seen his twin in nearly a decade. You smile at him - if the promise of revenge won't bend him to your will, then perhaps some nostalgia will. And he will think that it was all his idea.

"Really? You promise?"

"I do. There will hardly be any reason to enforce the border between you, if France lets him go," you say, still smiling at him as you clap his shoulders. It's hard to exude such proud fondness when you have to make the slightest inclination of your head to meet those bright blue eyes, but you think you manage.

"It's wrong to keep brothers apart, wouldn't you say?" you continue, "At least, ones who are so fond of each other. My own brothers can stay as far away as they'd like, but Alfred, it pains me to see you and Matthew held at arm's length from each other."

That's a distant sting, too, but he doesn't need to know that. An empire is a business, and not one you can afford to be too soft-hearted in. Already, you've shown too much favor to Alfred, but he has proven himself both useful and maddeningly charming. The reward will be many, many times the risk in just a few decades.

"Come, now, let's see you in that new uniform," you say, seeing that look in Alfred's eyes that lets you know he's like clay in your slender hands. Now it's only a matter of sculpting him into something worthwhile.

You leave him to change, waiting outside the door and wondering after a stretch of time if he needs help. Of course, if you asked, he'd whine and protest and say that he hasn't needed help dressing since he was a toddler, barely more than a settlement, but he does have a preference for simple garb. He might be confused by all the buttons and laces.

Just as you are about to knock, he calls out, letting you know that he's decent to be seen. You enter, and try to keep up a good poker face.

His warm skin is complemented by the fiery scarlet, and the cut of the coat gives a shape to his torso that you never noticed before. The breeches highlight his legs, well-muscled from both work and play outdoors. He looks every inch a proper soldier - not just a boy put into uniform, but a real soldier. His natural charm overrides the awkwardness of his expression as he fidgets in the new clothing, and when he smiles sheepishly at you, you do your best not to melt.

"Well?" he asks, hands clasped behind his back, and showing off that ramrod-straight posture you taught him. You swallow, looking for words.

"You look very fine," you say after a moment, "Yes, very fine. You are a true asset to me, Alfred, and it shows. No one will be able to doubt that when they see you."

His smile seems to flicker. It's the light, you tell yourself. Flames have habits of playing with people's faces. Were you both in the sunlight, his smile wouldn't falter at all.

"Heh. Thanks, Arthur."


	30. 30th March - UPENU

**AUTHOR**: Chrissie

**March 30th, 2014 – UPENU**

March 29th, 2014

Dear Totally Awesome Chronicles of the Coolest Person in the World,

Wow, I should shorten your name, it's way too long. TACOTCPITW? OHMYGOSH THAT LOOKS LIKE TACO PIT THAT IS TOTALLY YOUR NAME NOW DUDE!

Anyhow, I'm writing in you because Gil and Francis said I should quit whining to them about my "totally unawesome problems" which is RUDE because they're MY problems so they obviously have to be awesome 'cause they're mine even if they do suck more hairy balls than a vacuum cleaner. You know, I bet Kirkland would be surprised I can even spell vacuum but fuck him there are vacuums in SPACE and if there's one thing I know a ton about it's EFFING SPACE.

But yeah, Kirkland… He's basically Unawesome Problem El Numero Uno. UPENU? (I totally love acronyms, man, you can use them pretty much everywhere and they sound kick-ass and official.) Anyhow, Francis and Gil said I should write down my issues in a journal. I was all like, "don't you think writing in a diary is super girly and lame, guys?", and Francis was like "you're in amour with Arthur Kirkland, mon cher, 'girly and lame' are the least of your problems" and Gil practically shanked me to death with his pencil, so yeah. That's how we're here.

IDK if you're helping me yet but I guess I haven't actually talked about the real UPs, I've been kind of avoiding them, haha… Whoooo! This is pretty hard to write. I AM super girly and lame… jiminy crickets, I suck.

But yeah. UPENU. Kirkland. Punk British dude, spiky blonde hair, really, really green eyes, kind of short, always wears ripped up shirts with bands no one's ever heard of (but not even in a lame hipster way he's so genuinely cool it makes me sick), and pants that are always waaaay too tight to be legal. (Seriously, how does he even put them on?!)

He's problem number one because he's mostly the cause of ALL of my problems. First off, he's kind of an asshole. Or "arsehole", as he'd say with that stupid smarmy sexy accent of his. Heh, Stupid Sexy Kirkland! Lol, I crack myself up. You obviously don't get the reference because you're a book and can't watch TV, but whatever, suck it up! Be a man! WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF A GREAT TYPHOOOOOONNN~ Ugh, distracted again. KIRKLAND.

HE'S AN ASSHOLE. And he's rude to me all the time and he makes fun of me for liking anime and video games and science and sports and always corrects my grammar and spelling and yells at me for being too loud and stupid and fat (WHICH I AM NOT— I mean, I AM loud I guess, and I'm kind of sucky at English and History and everything common-sense related, but I kick ass at science and foreign languages! And if he thinks I'm fat he can just wait, I'll pay Ivan to sit on him during lunch next week. Dude sat on Mattie once and I swear he almost suffocated, he looked like a ghost for like a whole week after! This is why I'm bad at English, I don't even know where my parentheses are ending. Uhhh. Here.) Where was I?

Yeah, unawesome things Kirkland does. I mean, I guess that's pretty much it. Ridicule me relentlessly. Suck on that verbose vocabulary, Kirkland! Bitch please, I am fabulous! He doesn't even have a reason to make fun of me, he's just a DICK! Which kind of brings us to problem number two…

Not only IS Kirkland a dick, he also HAS a dick. Yeah, it's great if I want to punch him, 'cause everyone knows hitting girls is wrong unless they're spies or assassins, but uh. I don't WANT to punch him… kiiiiiiiind of the opposite, actually… I think this is implied, do I really have to say it? Er, write, I mean. I HATE YOU TACO PIT WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME BE SO HONEST GOSH. I WANT TO yechkkk kiss him and hold his hand and cuddle and take walks in the park and gaze into his dreamy emerald eyes and listen to him talk for hours about his weird hobbies and then totally jump his bones every day for the rest of eternity jiminy crickets I am such a ARRRGGGHHHH! I don't even understand WHY?! We've already established HE IS AWFUL so why do I want this so badly? He's not even that attractive! He literally has CATERPILLARS on his FACE!

But he is, though. Attractive, I mean, even if not conventionally or whatever. I think so, like, everything about him is attractive, even the damn caterpillars. AND HIS CLOTHES. GOD. I have never liked plaid so much in my life.

…It's gotta be hard being punk in the wintertime... I guess thick comfy scarves and coats just aren't cool enough for them— haha, cool. It's kind of a pun, you know, 'cause coats are warm and the whole point of— whatever, you know, I don't have to explain my jokes to you, stupid Taco Pit.

Seriously, though, he always looks REALLY COLD, like his cheeks are all flushed and wind-attacked when he walks in the school, and I just want to, well, hold him and make him warm. And make his face flushed for other reasons… I meant like embarrassing him with sappy poetry, but I'm totally not opposed to more inappropriate methods, haha! I'm totally waggling my eyebrows right now, even though you can't see it! …this is gonna sound weird, but I actually really want to kiss his eyebrows. I don't even know why. SHUT UP I KNOW I'M A FREAK. And god, the image of him wearing my jacket! ARTHUR KIRKLAND. WEARING. MY JACKET. These are like, my two biggest fantasies right here. And they're SO LAME! Ahhhh, I'm such a stupid sappy idiot!

You probably helped, I guess, I mean, I'm not angry anymore, I kind of feel happy I guess. Hah, maybe tomorrow I'll even get the courage to offer Kirkland my jacket! Not that he'd take it, but whatever. I can dream. And, I guess, be honest with myself about the fact that I AM dreaming about him.

…Thanks for listening, Taco Pit.

Love and Awesomesauce,

Alfred

* * *

Arthur Kirkland — the school's resident badass, punk extraordinaire, and secret Unicorn enthusiast — closed the small blue book that Francis had handed him and sat unmoving in his chair for approximately seven minutes. He then stood, carefully pushed in his chair, and made his way to the busy lunchroom where his eyes quickly located bright blonde hair tilted back in unabashed laughter. Arthur strode through the door, determined, then — stopped. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a tube of vanilla chapstick, spread it evenly on his lips, and then continued on his quest.

"After all," he thought, "it's not every day you kiss the one you love for the first time."


	31. 31st March - Wishful Thinking

**AUTHOR**: Empress Vegah

**March 31st, 2014 – Wishful Thinking  
**

It wasn't just a woman's dream to have a beautiful, memorable wedding.

_The crowd stands from their seats as they welcome the bride, walking down the aisle with her father._

Green eyes shone in secret want as Arthur gazed through the television, watching a video of a wedding in one of the electronic store's large television display. He was on his way to work when the widescreen's content caught his eye – a wedding.

One of the things he secretly wished to experience first-hand.

Yet Arthur knew that dream would lead to nowhere. He didn't even have someone who would want him forever; but if ever he did, how could he explain to _the one_ that he very much wanted to walk down the aisle, wanting to see what his groom's face would look like? Would he be happy to see Arthur walking there? Would he be nervous?

But even though it was just wishful thinking, Arthur had already one person in mind who he really wanted to see at the altar, waiting for him.

Alfred.

Arthur knew it was just a fantasy to keep him smiling at night. It was just impossible for Alfred – sweet, kind, charming, ladies' man Alfred – to see Arthur as anything more than a co-worker. Behind his cynical words and stiff attitude, Arthur was a dreamer: a romantic who wanted nothing more than to be happy with the one he loved.

Still, happiness seemed to evade him.

So Arthur just allowed himself to be contented sneaking glances at Alfred as he neared his table, typing seriously on his keyboard. Arthur admired his enthusiasm writing his teaching plan for his students. He allowed his gaze to linger, knowing that Alfred was too busy to notice –

When bright blue eyes were staring back at him.

Arthur let out a little gasp and he went red. He quickly fled, returning to his table to berate himself for his momentary weakness. He shouldn't have let his gaze linger. Now Alfred would know Arthur _looked_ at him. Arthur's thoughts quickly turned ugly – images of Alfred's scorn directed at him, the hatred in those blue eyes as he would label Arthur gay, that happy smile would never shine on him again.

Arthur busied himself with work, so determined to forget what transpired that afternoon that he didn't realize that it was already dismissal time. A shadow crossed over him and he looked up, adjusting his reading glasses in the process.

Alfred was standing beside his worktable.

Arthur's heart sped up. What would Alfred want from him? Was he there to mock him, to confront him for his staring? He fisted his hands to prevent them from shaking.

Alfred's intense look was making him uncomfortable. He opted to look at Alfred's cheekbone – what a handsome bone structure – rather than looking directly into his eyes. If Arthur was to be honest, he was afraid.

"W-What do you want, Alfred?" he stammered out. God, what a fool he must look like to Alfred.

"I saw you staring at me," Alfred replied after a moment of silence. Arthur felt his throat constrict. Everything was out. Alfred knew Arthur's affection for him. He felt his cheeks flush despite the situation he was in.

"Could it be that you like me? Coz that would be so cool, because damn, I really wanna go out with you so badly, Arthur! Will you go out with me?" Alfred declared – exclaimed, and Arthur's world was suddenly turned upside down.

What? Did Arthur really hear Alfred correctly? _I really wanna go out with you so badly, Arthur!_

Arthur felt dizzy with the revelation that he didn't have anything to say – he was practically speechless, his wide eyes and red face were the only indication he heard Alfred.

Alfred's confidence quickly left him. "Um – oh gee wow, what a foolish mistake, aha, wow, God, Arthur, I'm so sorry – I assumed too much and thought that you like me like I like you and haha, that's a lot of like… Wow, ain't this awkward, haha," Alfred took a step backwards and had a hand behind his nape, rubbing it in embarrassment.

Arthur's head quickly snapped up to meet Alfred's sheepish blue eyes – eyes that bore shy sincerity and oh my God, Alfred was really interested in _him_?!

"Alfred… what did you ask me again?" Arthur was thankful that his voice didn't sound shaky – his whole body was shaking in both fear and hope.

The Physics teacher looked back and the embarrassment melt away, only to be replaced by a determination that spoke volumes of his earnest feelings for Arthur.

"Arthur, I'm asking you, will you go out with me?"

With his heart beating wildly against his chest, Arthur thought of his little late-night fantasy. It might not come true, but this was a start.

"Yes, I will, Alfred."


End file.
